Lucked Out
by coolbyrne
Summary: The discovery of a murdered South African boy brings Tony face-to-face with his past. Completed!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Lucked Out  
Author: coolbyrne  
Rating: Strong PG (dismemberment, death, the occasional obscenity)  
Disclaimer: Characters from Wire in the Blood are owned by Val McDermid. No infringement is intended.  
Feedback: Constructive criticisms/compliments are always welcome.  
A/N: I normally don't post WIP fics; I worry that I'll see it as pressure and never end up finishing it! But for this, I have a really good idea where it's going and how it will get there, so I thought I'd give it a go. (This is actually based on a CSI spec script I wrote, so I'm not writing blind!) There's a lot I'd like to say, but can't without getting into the heart of the story, so I'll leave any further notes for future updates. My thanks to romanmachine. For everything.  
Summary: Just another case, but for Tony Hill, it becomes much more. Tony/Alex casefile.

-----

-Nothing happens by chance, my friend... No such thing as luck. A meaning behind every little thing, and such a meaning behind this. Part for you, part for me, may not see it all real clear right now, but we will, before long. (Richard Bach)

-----

"There are days I can honestly say I've had it with this job."

The words of resignation from DI Alex Fielding didn't register immediately in his brain. Neither did the sounds of DS Kevin Geoffries retching in the background. Tony Hill's primary focus was on the body the pathology team had lifted from the shallow grave that stood out in the small patch of woods. They had found the place quite easily as it was at the bottom of a sharp incline from the road, but only 30 feet in. Finding the body was even easier. The area had already been partially dug up by the dog of the person who had called the police about the discovery. Tony amended his description- it wasn't a body so much as a torso, a large piece with only stumps where it appeared the relevant appendage had been hacked off. The small fragment lay on the blue blanket that had been buried with it while a pair of helpers carefully brought down a gurney, and he once again reminded himself of the human condition; the reactions of those around him weren't necessarily in response to the gruesomeness of the find. God knew they had seen worse in their unenviable jobs. No, he was certain it had everything to do with the fact the torso was clearly that of a young child.

"Why go through all that trouble?" Tony mused aloud.

Alex met his question with a withering look. "You know something, Tony? I don't give a shit why they did it. I just want to find out who."

He nodded, understanding her need not only as a cop but as a mother to find the person responsible. But as his role as a psychologist, he couldn't help but want to know more. In fact, it was often his opinions and questions, initially unwanted, that helped the police fulfill their end of the deal. As was his nature, he plodded on, either oblivious to Alex's rebuttal, or pretending to be.

"Did the amputations happen before or after death?" he asked Ashley Vernon, the head of the pathology team.

The older man shrugged and wiped his brow with the back of his arm. "Hard to make any conclusions at this point, of course," he admitted, his breath curling into white wisps in the cool morning air. "The body's exsanguinated, but there did seem to be some bruising and clotting around the shoulders, which would indicate amputation before death. Once we cut open what we have and take a look at the organs, we'll know more." Having been Bradfield's pathologist for over 20 years, he had seen it all, and thus spoke as if reciting a shopping list. Alex turned her reproachful eye in his direction which he ignored.

"Is that all there is?" she asked flatly. "In the grave, I mean?"'

Vernon nodded. "As far as we could find. The criminalists and their collection of fancy gadgets assured us there was nothing more." He tilted his head in the direction of a duo who were clad head to foot in white jumpsuits, complete with booties and gloves. "They're waiting for me to leave so they can swoop down and pick the area apart. Don't leave any DNA behind," he warned as he made his way up the incline. "Come see me after lunch," he called back.

"Lunch," Alex muttered as her hand went to her stomach.

Tony looked up at Kevin who had made sure he was far enough away from the crime scene before emptying his stomach contents in the bushes on the opposite side of the narrow road. The young officer was still catching his breath in large gulps and had yet to turn his attention back to Tony, Alex, and the grave.

"Better not mention lunch to Kevin," Tony advised, which only got him another withering look in return.

--

The quiet hum of the Citroen was the only sound between them for several minutes as Alex navigated traffic and her thoughts.

"Fine," she said at last, glancing in his direction. "Why go through all that trouble? And where's the rest of it?"

Tony shifted in his seat to look at her. "If it had been an adult victim, I'd say the dismemberment was most likely done to prevent identification. Remove the face, the fingerprints, perhaps any identifying scars or tattoos. But that was just a child, barely old enough to have made a mark on the world let alone be identified in it. The exsanguination hints towards a cult-like killing." His attention briefly turned to the passing scenery. "It's certainly out of the way." When she said nothing in return, he surmised, "I suspect the answer to one of your questions will answer the other."

Alex blew a retort between her lips. "I could do with more leads and less speculation."

"I only give what I have."

She had heard the harshness in her tone and tempered it by asking, "Do you need a lift to the university?"

Recognizing the apology, he shook his head and opened his arms. "No. Today I'm all yours."

With feigned innocence, she asked, "They finally gave you your P-45, did they?"

He frowned at the idea and for the first time that day, she smiled.

--

The police station was in a usual state of constant movement and while Alex kept herself busy with paperwork that never seemed to end, Tony sat at an empty desk in the large office that had been the place of many years of brainstorming and breakthroughs. He spun the chair and lifted his feet, letting himself do several complete turns. His eyes took in everything. Had it really been years? The room had changed- the renovations made it bigger even as the huge computer screen that had replaced the whiteboard took up a large amount of space in the middle of the room. Some of the people had changed, too. There were faces he had only just recently been able to put names to. Yet it only seemed like yesterday Carol had approached his-

He abruptly planted his feet and stopped the chair.

--

"Bring the King down and put the nine its place. Then you can bring the other column over."

Tony's eyes shifted to the woman who had come up behind his chair and was now helpfully leaning over his shoulder. When he did as he was told, the computer began to file the cards in piles, recognizing the winning move.

Alex slapped his shoulder. "What did I tell you? I'm the FreeCell champion. What do you think I do in my office all day?" She slipped on her jacket and said, "You ready?"

Tony looked at the small clock in the lower right hand corner of the computer screen. "It's only fifteen past noon."

"It's after lunch," she replied. "If he meant later in the day, he should have said so."

He closed the program and stood up. "Remind me never to challenge your punctuality or your FreeCell skills."

--

The autopsy room was big and bright, a discovery that always threw Tony for a bit of a loop. He knew logistically that it wouldn't make sense for it to be small and dim, but he had always associated the act of an autopsy with hushed tones, close quarters and subdued lighting. For Tony, it seemed to be such an intimate act, even if that intimacy was strictly a clinical one. He never quite got past the humanity of the victim- to him, it was still a person, a person whose hopes and thoughts and potential had ended, often too abruptly. Certainly much too abruptly in the case of this fragment of a child who had been opened under florescent lights for all to see. Alex pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, steeled herself, then stepped forward. Tony quietly took his place to her left.

Vernon looked up from his task and through the thin paper mask covering his mouth, he muttered, "Remind me to give you a later time in the future."

She ignored his jab at her punctuality and got to the point. "What have you got so far?"

He stood up tall and cracked his neck. Pulling down the mask, he replied, "Based on the measurement of his pelvic bone, I'd say between 6 and 8 years of age."

Avoiding looking at the open torso on the table, Alex focussed on the grizzled pathologist. "And is there any indication of how he died?"

"I found bruising and congealing around the end of the left shoulder, as I mentioned at the scene. But during the incision, I also found this." He bent down to point out the discovery, and while Tony leaned in with him, Alex remained standing, her eyes ahead. Vernon noticed her resistance and stood up straight again. "A very dark bruise on the boy's left pectoral. I suspect it's from someone holding him down with their left and cutting with their right."

"Weapon?" Tony wondered.

"Whatever they used was extremely sharp. Minimal cuts on the bone indicate few sawing motions. Most likely more of a chop. A machete? An axe?"

"The congealing and bruising. So he _was_ alive when he was dismembered," Alex said flatly.

With hands on hips, Vernon looked down at the body and shook his head sadly. "If there's any good news to be had, after the first sever, the body would have started shutting down systems to compensate for the blood loss."

Tony knew where the line of thinking was going. "Hypovolaemia."

The pathologist nodded. "The body then would induce tachycardia, or an excessive rapidity of the heart. When the blood work comes back, I expect an abnormal amount of acid in the fluids. A lot of fancy medical evidence pointing to a fairly uncomplicated end- the boy died of simple shock."

It was those words that moved her gaze down to the table. "There's nothing simple about this."

Vernon conceded the point with a shrug. "No, I suppose not. I'll do what I can to get the test results back quickly, but I'd still give it at least five days." Remembering her punctuality, he amended, "Make it six."

--

For the second time that day, they found themselves side-by-side in her car.

"You're awfully quiet," Alex said as she clicked her seatbelt into place. "It makes me nervous. What's up?"

"The fact that the victim was dismembered while alive changes the motive completely," Tony began without hesitation. "It's not to disguise the identity, because if that was the case, why risk someone hearing the victim? Even taking into account it was most likely done in a secluded private place, most people would kill first, dismember second."

Alex pulled out of the parking lot. "Unless they want the victim to suffer." Tony nodded. "Sick bastards."

"Stop by the university," he instructed. Seeing her inquisitive look, he said, "I knew there was something about this case that was sitting right here," he tapped the top of his head. "There was a case in London about six years ago."

She looked over and slowly nodded. "Right," she said as the details came to her. "A torso was pulled out of the Thames."

"They called him 'Adam', because they were never able to identify him. He was between the ages of 4 and 7."

The details continued to drop like puzzle pieces in her brain and as the final piece fell into place, she brought the car to a hard stop, much to the chagrin of the vehicle behind them. As an officer of the law, she felt it best to refrain from giving the driver a two finger gesture and instead waved her feigned apology and touched the accelerator. "Shit, Tony," she admonished. "They suspected some kind of voodoo ritual."

"That was the line of thinking, yes," he agreed.

She shook her head. "Not again. I'm not going through some voodoo crap again."

"It's all psychological, Alex. It doesn't really work."

"And I almost lost my son over something that doesn't really work," she reminded him.

In turn, he reminded her, "And someone _has_ lost their son. At least two someones, in fact."

"I don't know if that makes me more or less likely to want to get involved, Tony."

The university came into sight, and as she made a turn to the steps that led up to the doors of the great building, he pointed towards the faculty parking. "Take my spot. I'd like you to come in with me."

Puzzled but admittedly curious, she did as she was told and followed him into the school.

--

Instead of making their way to his office, Tony turned left and ascended two flights of stairs. Halfway down the hallway, he stopped in front of an open door and glanced inside the office. The movement in the doorway caught the attention of the man sitting at a desk. He flashed a smile and waved the pair inside.

"Tony, come in, come in."

The desk disguised the height of the man, who, when standing, appeared to be at least six and a half feet tall. His skin was as smooth as polished ebony and his eyes were as hard as coal, but his wide generous smile made him completely disarming. Alex couldn't help but smile in return.

Tony shook his hand and said, "Enoc. Good to see you. This is a friend of mine, Alex Fielding. Alex, this is Enoc Mabi, professor of African studies."

The tall man gently took her hand between his. "It's a pleasure to meet any friend of Tony's. He doesn't have many." He softened his ribbing with a wink in Tony's direction. "Please, sit." He waited for them to take their seats in front of his desk before returning to his own.

"How's the family?" Tony asked.

Enoc laughed at the attempt at social expectations. ""Now, you're not one for social visits, Tony, so what can I do for you?"

"Don't say I never tried," he said before getting to the heart of the matter. "Alex works with the Bradfield police, and I'm sure you know I often assist in some of the more… unusual cases." Enoc nodded and encouraged him to continue. "There was a discovery of a body in Marden Woods this morning. A torso, in fact. That of a young boy."

When the professor waited for more, Alex said, "It reminded us of a case several years back. About a torso pulled out of the Thames."

Enoc's face lit up in recognition. "Ah, yes, I remember. They never found out who did it." There was a slight pause as he made the connection. "I see. You think these two cases are related."

"The suspicion in the first case has always been it may have been a ritualistic murder," Tony said.

"A medicine murder, or a muti killing, yes," Mabi replied. "I must confess, I was hard-pressed to believe it back then. The odds of two happening in England would be fairly astronomical."

"Muti killing," Alex repeated. "What is that?"

Enoc steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair. "First, it's important to know that it is primarily an African ritual, practiced more so in the south. What made the Thames case interesting were the incredible odds of it happening outside of Africa. Even though actual numbers are hard to pin down, it is believed there have been fewer than 300 muti killings in all of the last decade."

"Why hard to pin down?" Alex queried.

With a small smile, Enoc replied, "Africa has had much progress over the last decade, Miss Fielding, but it still bends under the weight of being a third world continent. Superstition and rituals have been the law of the land for many, many generations. Even if every village had a system of justice established- justice and law the way we know it to be here- there's always the fear of retribution. This applies to all who have been victims of such practices. And for those who have lost their livestock, their homes or even their family members, who wants to bring more tragedy to their lives?"

"Is there anything about the practitioners of this ritual you could tell us?" Tony asked.

"Nothing particular, no," Mabi answered. "People from all walks of life have been known to seek out the sangomas- the witch doctors. Lawyers, bankers, farmers, village elders." He looked at Alex and tilted his head. "Tell me, Miss Fielding, do you ever feel that some people are luckier than you?"

Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

Enoc shrugged. "You worked hard to get where you are, was diligent in your studies as a student, stayed up late to study, went to every class. But there was always one student who missed more classes then attended, and if they stayed up late it was only to close the pubs." Alex smiled. "I see you already have a memory in mind!"

"Steven Atkinson."

"And Steven passed with flying colours, yes?"

"Yes, that bastard."

Mabi tossed his head back and laughed. Then he asked, "Would you consider him a lucky bastard?" As she pondered his point, he continued, "Muti practitioners believe there is only so much luck in the world. The quantity is finite. So, in order to obtain more luck, it must come at the expense of another. Someone must lose their luck, you see?" He turned to Tony. "Were the genitals removed?" Tony shook his head. "Interesting. Not a fertility ritual, then." He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the wide surface of his desk and explained, "The removal of certain parts or organs reflect the purpose of the ritual. Some are consumed for a specific gain, such as the genitals for fertility or the heart for strength. And some are consumed for the simple act of ingesting that person's luck."

"So it's not just a case of cutting off the limbs in the name of whatever and disposing of them when the sacrifice is over," Alex ventured, both repelled and intrigued at once.

"Oh, no," Enoc said. "It is a very tactile ritual. It's quite a personal exchange. You don't pay a sangoma to do the ritual then sit back and wait for it to 'kick in', as it were. You are a very active participant."

Alex took in all the information thoughtfully. "I suppose that explains why they never found the rest of Adam- the boy in the Thames. And by the same token, it doesn't look good for our chances either, if this really was a muti killing."

Enoc spread out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Not everything is consumed. There are some bones that are more potent in their original form and are used for charms. Hands and skulls are placed in entranceways of businesses to attract profit. I've seen men with chains made of finger joints, or leather strings that hang the Atlas bone of their victim."

"Atlas bone?" she echoed.

"A vertebrae," he explained. "The first at the base of the neck."

"Where Atlas held the world," Tony added.

Mabi pointed to Tony. "Exactly. In such a ritual, the Atlas bone is believed to be the center of the body where the nerve and blood vessels meet."

"We have reason to believe our victim was dismembered while he was still alive," Tony informed. "Does this ring true?"

"Absolutely. The screams of the victim are believed to increase the potency of the ritual. You also mentioned he was a young boy?"

"Yes."

"Also a very basic yet integral part of the practice. Victims who have not reached puberty are thought to increase the potency even more."

Alex closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She allowed herself a moment to think of her own son, well shy of puberty and full of life. It was a brief respite. "What are the chances these two murders are connected?"

Enoc's eyes widened at the possibility. "Astronomical, I'd say. I don't know what would defy the odds more- two muti killings in England, or two muti killings connected to each other, in England or no. Muti on its own is extremely rare. Of course, anything can happen, but I can't imagine such a thing becoming serial."

"I don't suppose I could just find a sangoma in the directory, could I?" Alex ventured facetiously.

Laughing, Mabi replied, "No, I would think not. It's a very hidden world, for obvious reasons. No, you're more likely to discover the person who required the task to be done is a sangoma himself, or at least has some knowledge of the practice. He must be able to perform the ritual properly in order for it to have the desired effect."

Alex frowned at his choice of words. "So you believe in all this?"

"It's not what I believe or don't believe, Miss Fielding. It's what your suspect believes."

Tony tapped his forehead. "See? It's all psychological, Alex."

"It's quite amazing what the mind can be convinced to believe," Enoc admitted, then nodded in Tony's direction and smiled at Alex. "Just keep this one around and you'll do fine. I once tried to hypnotize him at the faculty Christmas party- and he fell asleep!"

While the other two laughed, Tony feebly defended himself. "It was a dull party!"

--


	2. Chapter 2

--

The drive back to the police station was a short one, and as they walked into the large open office, Tony asked, "So, what's our next step?"

Alex stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the offices of the higher ranking detectives. "Well, I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm going to go through the missing persons reports over the last couple of months. Your muti theory is interesting, but until the pathologist's findings come back, we don't have much to support it." She saw his expression and chastised him. "Don't give me that look, Tony. I can only go on evidence, and right now we don't have any, which is why I'll be going over the missing persons reports. But you can feel free to entertain yourself if you like. Five days of waiting should make you a FreeCell champion."

Tony grunted a response. "I suppose I have university work I could do."

Alex smiled and began to ascend the stairs. A thought occurred to her and she stopped and turned. "You could come over tonight for dinner if you're free. Or bored. It's Ben's weekly attempt at cooking and he's been on me to invite you over."

"Oh, really?" Tony asked.

"Don't be so surprised. He thinks you're 'cool'." When she saw the corners of his mouth turn up, she shook her head. "I'm not sure I'd be as chuffed considering it's coming from a seven year old boy, but there you have it. You've been lumped in with Blue Peter and David Beckham."

"And what's Ben making for dinner? Is it fitting for a man of my stature?"

She laughed at his feigned act of self-importance. "Macaroni and cheese. Shall I tell him to set another plate?"

"I'll bring the wine."

"Perhaps milk would be more suitable given the circumstances. And dinner's at six."

"Right," he replied and watched as she made her way up the stairs again.

--

"You're early," Alex said as she held the door open to let him in.

"I got bored with FreeCell," he confessed and followed her inside.

"Take off your coat. The chef's not quite finished his culinary masterpiece yet," she told him. "But you'd better come into the kitchen and announce yourself."

Entering the kitchen, they walked in on the young boy standing on a chair, as he looked over a boiling pot on the stove.

"Don't lean over too close," Alex warned her son. "The steam is hot."

"I know, Mum," Ben groaned, then seeing her companion, the boy's face lit up. "Hi, Tony."

Tony raised a hand in greeting. "Hi, Ben. Whatever you're making smells wonderful."

Ben beamed. "Macaroni and cheese. My specialty."

"Indeed." He raised his other hand and held up a bag. "I brought dessert- ice cream." He felt Alex's eyes on him. "What?" he asked innocently. "It's frozen milk." He gave the offering to Alex and as she put it in the freezer, he turned his attention back to the boy. "I'll leave you to it. My stomach's growling already."

"Go sit in the living room, Mum," Ben ordered. "I can do this by myself."

Alex narrowed her eyes. "Hmmm. All right. But if you need any help, you call me." When the boy didn't answer, she walked up to him and kissed him on the top of his head. "I mean it."

"Okay, Mum."

Tony and Alex walked into the living room, but he noted she made sure to sit with the kitchen well within view.

"He seems to be growing up faster and faster every day," she said as she kept one eye on the other room. "It's getting harder and harder to know how much independence I should give him. And how much he needs."

"The cooking is a good idea," Tony admired. "It's serious responsibility that you can monitor."

"That and it gives me a night off cooking."

"Yes, there's always that."

"Oh," she said, noticing the absence of drinks. "Wine might be out of the question, but I could make us a coffee."

As she got up, Tony playfully accused, "You just can't bear to let go of him just yet."

She threw him a look, but was given a similar response by Ben when she stepped into the kitchen.

"Mum!" he said in exasperation.

"What?" she asked, hands in the air. "I'm just here to make a coffee for your guest."

Tony smiled from the other room. He stood up and casually looked around. It wasn't the first time he had been in her home. In fact, he suspected he was in Ben's good books because of a surprisingly successful night of babysitting the young boy a few months ago. Yet even then, he hadn't taken the opportunity to look around, an oversight he chalked up to stark terror at the thought of being in charge of a child. But now, with both Alex and Ben out of the frame, he perused the shelf of DVDs and books. He felt after over a year, he had a fair handle on who Alex was, but it was always an interesting exercise to see how viewing and reading material matched up to personality profiles. He often found there were always one or two startling surprises. In this case, there was no exception. He made a note to ask her about the particularly ultra-violent Asian horror flick amidst the expected collection of crime dramas and British comedies. There were several photographs lining the shelves, too, and he leaned in for a closer look.

The majority were of Ben at various ages, from newborn infant to the recent school photo Tony identified as the one Ben had given him only a month ago. The one dissident among the lot was a photo of Tony. He jerked his head back in surprise. It took him a moment to realize it was taken at the Christmas party held by the Bradfield police. He peered closer, as if not recognizing the face. In it, he was smiling- a full, open smile.

"I couldn't resist," a voice behind him confessed.

He jumped and spun around. "Jesus, Alex!"

She smirked and handed him a steaming cup. Nodding towards the photo, she explained, "I had never seen you smile like that." Teasingly, she added, "I didn't even know you had teeth until that smile."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I was drunk."

"You had had a few," she admitted. "But it only made you relax, which was… refreshing. It's not as if you got up on the chairs and made a fool of yourself by singing, 'I'm bringing sexy back'."

"Wes Campbell," Tony said, the memory coming back to him.

Alex laughed and looked to the bookshelf. "So, what kind of profile have you made of me from all this?"

"Nothing I hadn't already sussed out about you."

"Ah, so you do walk into a room and classify people by its contents."

Tony shrugged. "I suppose it's second nature. No doubt in the same way you categorize people like a police photofit when you first meet them."

"Touché," she granted.

He gave his photo one last look then sat down on a nearby couch. "Did you find anything in the missing persons reports today?"

Alex followed his lead and sat down, but groaned at his question. "Do we have to talk about work?"

He looked at her blankly, as if the idea of talking about anything else was unfathomable. He was saved the prospect of venturing into unknown territory by Ben's call from the kitchen.

"Tony, can you help me pour the water out?" came the request.

As he put down his mug and stood up, Alex said, "Dodged a bullet there!"

--

After they had sat down and listened to Ben recite a customary 'Grace', plates were handed to Alex who doled out an equal portion of the culinary delight to Tony and Ben before filling her own.

"Milk?" she asked her son.

"Yes, please," he replied around a mouthful of macaroni, having already started into his meal.

She shook her head good-naturedly and stood up. "Tony?"

"Yes, please," he echoed. Bringing a spoon up to his mouth, he waited for his taste buds to send a message to his brain. When it arrived, he nodded appreciatively. "This is very good, Ben."

The young boy, with his chin nearly resting on the edge of his plate as he shovelled the food into his mouth said, "Thanks."

Alex brought the drinks to the table and touched Ben lightly on the shoulder. "Slow down, you'll make yourself sick." She slid back into her seat and watched to make sure he had heard her. Satisfied that he was paying heed to her direction, she turned to her meal.

Tony looked around the table and paused. Not for the first time he wondered if this was something he was missing- a family unit that would somehow integrate him with society, a society from which he felt increasing alienated. Was he using Alex and Ben as a proxy to pretend he was fulfilling a societal requirement? Was that what it was with Carol? No, he immediately countered. However awkward his reaction, his feelings were earnest; he genuinely cared about the people in his life. That seemed to be where the problems began, he thought to himself. He blinked once and shook his head sharply as if shaking the idea from his head.

"So how's school?" he asked Ben.

"Good," the boy replied and continued eating.

"Just good?" Alex gently prodded.

When he shrugged, Tony decided to try a different route. "How are you doing in Maths?"

This got a livelier response, though not the one Tony expected. With a dramatic sigh and groan, Ben declared, "I hate it." Remembering his mother's rules on using such a harsh word, he quickly corrected himself. "I dislike it a lot."

"I thought we had made some progress when we worked on it together," Tony said, referring to the night of babysitting when they had pored over the young student's books at this very table.

"That was ages ago," Ben replied, referencing time in a way only the young can. "We've learned loads since and it's hard."

Tony hummed his sympathy. "Well, if it means anything, I was never very good in Maths, either."

Curious, Ben looked at Tony and tilted his head. "Really?"

"Really. I was able to do just well enough to go to university."

"Did you always want to be a teacher?" the boy asked.

Tony looked off to the side and gave the question serious thought. "Not particularly," he admitted. Over Alex's laughter, he continued, "I wanted to help people heal, but didn't want to be a medical doctor. And when I got out of university, psychology wasn't as established as it is now, so I needed to do something that involved psychology, but paid also the bills. So I decided to teach."

Ben listened intently. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes," Tony replied. "It wasn't something I had considered for myself, but sometimes you don't really know how you feel about things until you try it."

"That's what Mum says too, isn't it, Mum?"

Alex bowed her head sagely. "I do."

"Your mum's a very wise woman," Tony said.

"She can't do Maths, though," Ben tossed out nonchalantly.

"Hey!" Alex objected. "I'll tell you what I can do- I can take away dessert."

Tony looked across the table and noted, "You didn't deny it."

Sternly, she glared and threatened, "I can take yours away, too."

Both Tony and Ben had the good grace- or good sense- to cover their smiles.

--

"Thanks for coming tonight," Alex said as Tony put his coat on. "I know he misses a male influence in his life, so I appreciate you spending time with him."

Unsuccessfully attempting to fix his collar, he shrugged away the thanks. "I'm sorry I'm the best you can do."

"Don't be daft. Whether you want to recognize it or not, he's grown attached to you. So thank you."

"At his age, I think it's more likely he identifies with the difficulty of reacting to social cues and sees me as a kindred spirit."

In a rare moment of genuine anger towards him, she snapped, "Do you have to analyze everything?" Taking a breath, she softened her words by turning his collar properly and patting it flat. "He likes you. Does there need to be more to it?" When Tony didn't reply, she said, "Besides, there's nothing wrong with not falling into line and being like the rest of us sheep. If he takes that from you, I don't think that's such a bad thing." The silence settled between them for a moment, then she changed direction. "By the way, to answer your earlier question, nothing came up in the missing persons reports, so it looks like we'll have to wait until the pathologist's report comes in." She reached around him and opened the door. "In the meantime, find something to do for at least four days."

He blinked as if she had told him to go jump out of a plane.

--

As it turned out, he didn't need to wait four days. Whether it was Vernon's desire to avoid the daily phone calls from Alex, or simply because it was a quiet week at the lab, it was two days later that the results of the autopsy hummed through the fax machine that otherwise rested quietly on Alex's desk. In the time it took her to make a fresh pot of coffee, Tony had made the trip from his flat to the police office.

"That was awfully quick," Alex noted when she saw him enter the room. "Waiting by the phone, were you?"

"Not at all," Tony blustered. "I was doing research for my next session. The phone just happened to be within arm's reach of my book."

"Of course," she acquiesced with an expression and a nod that belied her tone.

He chose to ignore something he could not convincingly deny and instead asked, "What did the pathologist report have to say?"

She took a sip of her hot coffee. "I haven't had time to enter the information into the computer, so you'll have to read the hard copy."

Not waiting for his reaction to her second dig at his eagerness, she walked towards her office and didn't bother looking back, knowing he had fallen in step and followed. When they arrived at her door, she entered and slid into a chair behind her desk. Tony carefully closed the door behind him and took the file from her outstretched hand before sitting in a chair of his own. She tilted her seat back and gauged his reactions over the brim of her hot cup. He was not a speed-reader; his eyes didn't skim, but instead moved slowly from left to right and absorbed each word before his brain put them all together. The room was quiet until he was satisfied the process had been thoroughly completed.

"That explains why your missing persons reports came up short," Tony said. "The victim's not missing from here, he's missing from South Africa."

Alex nodded in agreement. "If we only had the stomach contents to go on, I might not be so convinced. Rooibos is a plant I've seen in local tea shops. It's the pollen in the lungs that convinces me."

Tony, too, nodded. "_Protea Cynaroides_. King Protea, the flower of South Africa. That puts him outside of England."

"It also gives us a timeline," Alex added. "They can't establish an exact lifespan of the pollen, but whatever experts Vernon called gives it anywhere between three and seven days. He ventured closer to three, considering the lungs were healthy; no mucus to contain the spores."

"I wouldn't discount the stomach contents entirely." Tony looked down at the file in his hands. "Apricots, raisins, hamburger, rice, rooibos and corn," he read from the sheet. "The first three items are ingredients in a South African dish called 'bobotie'." When there was no response, he looked up to see a bemused Alex, and felt compelled to explain his culinary knowledge. "I've gone to lunch once or twice with Enoc. Which is why you shouldn't discount this information." He held up the file and reached over to put it on her desk. "If the victim came into the country three or four days ago, most likely he knew someone. But he might have eaten this food in a restaurant. Bradfield's not as cosmopolitan as it would like to think. This is a very specific kind of menu. I can't imagine there would be more than half a dozen places to find it." She acknowledged his point but said nothing. "What is it?" he asked.

Shaking her head, she answered, "I don't know. We're missing something here." He waited from her to continue. "The killer wouldn't fly to England with the victim, so our suspect was already here in Bradfield. But we've established the victim was from South Africa. The victim came to the killer. I'm a six year old boy- how do I get to Bradfield from South Africa?"

Tony pondered the question. "Someone would purchase the ticket for you."

"Would I fly alone?"

"At that distance? Not likely."

"So I'm travelling with at least one adult. An adult who must have some idea of what's going on. I wouldn't be bringing a six year old into the country and just look away when they disappeared if I didn't know what would happen ahead of time."

Tony knew what was coming next. "Poor Kevin."

Alex sat upright in her chair and took a final drink from her mug before she stood. "That's one reason I'm the boss."

--

"You want me to get a copy of every passenger list from every plane that came from South Africa to Bradfield in the last week?" Kevin exclaimed in disbelief. "I don't even know what cities to check."

"Well brush up on your geography and go with the first five major airports. Then start with the flights that flew directly to Bradfield," Alex instructed, ignoring her second-in-command's incredulous reaction. "Hopefully we'll get lucky before we have to check connecting flights through London."

"In this case, 'we' meaning 'me'," Kevin said, not fooled for a second. Seeing his boss's shrug, he rolled his eyes. "Right. And what will you be doing in the meantime?"

She turned her watch on her wrist and looked at Tony. "Late lunch?"

"Early tea?" Tony offered

"Oh, that's nice," Kevin retorted as the pair walked away.

--


	3. Chapter 3

--

"Next time we might think of getting a list of places to visit before getting in the car," Tony suggested when they got a block away from the station before realizing they weren't sure where they were going.

"I wanted to get out before Kevin forgot I was his superior and decided to throttle me."

"Ah, it will only keep him busy for a few days," Tony dismissed. "Where _are_ we going?"

"Do you remember where you had those lunches with Professor Mabi?" Alex asked. "We can start there. I'm sure they'll be able to point us in a direction. And while we're on the subject of directions, where's this restaurant?"

"I believe it's called 'Good Haps' on Newson Street," Tony replied. As Alex turned the car around, he asked her, "What do you think Kevin's chances are?"

"Considering all the variables involved and all the potential outcomes?" she shrugged, knowing how slim Kevin's chances were of tracking down one boy in a sea of possibilities. "I don't know what else to do. We don't know enough about where the victim came from to put out any kind of inquiry to South African authorities, though I'm thinking of sending out a general request to Cape Town, Johannesburg and whatever other major South African city I find on map. It's a shot in the dark but I owe Kevin that much."

Tony smiled at her sly remark. "Perhaps Kevin will have the case solved by the time we get back."

Alex chuckled. "Well, he is an ambitious bastard. Right. Here we are, Newson Street. Any area in particular?"

"This end on the left," Tony directed. "Or the other end on the right."

"And this is why I don't let you drive."

--

"Hello," the dark man greeted when they entered the restaurant. His welcome was such that it was obvious he recognized Tony, though misplacing his name.

Tony shook the man's hand. "Tony Hill. I've been here a few times with Enoc Mabi."

"Ah, yes!" the man's face lit up in recognition. "Apologies, Dr. Hill."

"It's quite all right. We're even because I've drawn a blank on your name as well. 'Moyo'?" he guessed.

"Well done. Moyo Olonga, owner of the best South African restaurant in Bradfield, nay, England."

Alex was immediately taken by his genial nature and smiled. Extending her hand, she introduced herself. "DI Alex Fielding."

Returning the hand shake, Moyo said, "Am I to take it this is police business?"

"Just a few things we're hoping you can help us with," Alex reassured.

"Then follow me." He held out an arm and ushered them towards a table. "Let me extend my hospitality in the meantime." As they sat down, he asked, "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," Alex replied, and when she saw Tony shake his head to the question, she began, "I know this is going to sound like a bit of a long shot, but we're looking for a boy, African descent, about six years old who might have eaten here within the last week. New to the area."

Moyo's brow furrowed. "We serve quite a few families here, Miss Fielding. Is there something more specific about him?"

Alex shifted in her seat, unsure of how to continue. Tony understood the hesitation and tried to explain. "Unfortunately, he was the victim of a crime, to the extent the pathologist was unable to take photos for identification."

"Tch," Moyo shook his head sadly. "Six years old." Closing his eyes, he tried to stir up his memory. "A six year old boy in the past week." Time stretched out but to no avail. He shook his head again. "I'm sorry. No face comes to mind. Sakile!" he called out over his shoulder. A statuesque woman came round the corner. "Dr. Hill, DI Fielding, this is my wife, Sakile."

She smiled at the visitors. "Hello."

"These fine people are looking for a six year old boy who may have been here last week. Someone new we might not have recognized."

It only took the woman a moment to reply. "No one who has stood out among the regulars," she answered. "Certainly not a boy."

"And you're the only ones who do the guest greetings," Alex guessed.

Moyo nodded. "We try to maintain a feeling of family when you arrive. The restaurant is ours so it only seems right that we welcome you into our family. What leads you to believe he was here?"

"We're not even sure he ate in a restaurant," Tony conceded. "Based on… certain things," he thought it best not to get into autopsy details, "we've established he may have eaten South African food within a day of the crime. We know he drank rooibos."

"Because we have so little to go on, we thought we'd try restaurants in the area," Alex explained.

"Have you tried 'Braai's' yet?" Sakile asked.

Alex smiled. "This was the only South African restaurant Tony knew. We were hoping we could get some direction from you."

Sakile mirrored Alex's expression. "Let me get some paper and I'll write some places down."

"Thank you."

As they waited for Moyo's wife to return, Alex looked around. "This is a lovely place, Mr. Olonga." He bowed his head in thanks. "I've never eaten South African food. What's it like?"

"I think like most things, it can depend on what you're looking for," Moya answered. "I do find people are often surprised at the regularity in which we use fruit in our dished, but in a way one might not identify. For instance, 'blatjang' is a sauce comprised of fruit and spices- apricots, garlic, hot chilli peppers, onion and curry powder."

Alex touched her stomach and hummed appreciatively. "That sounds delicious."

"Then you must come back and eat," he good-naturedly commanded. "We will set up a sampling tray for you. You'll never want to leave!" The trio laughed warmly.

"Is he tempting you with the menu?" Sakile asked as she returned.

"Yes," Tony replied, "and reminding me I missed lunch."

"It won't get any better," she informed him and handed Alex a slip of paper. "You still have four more restaurants to visit."

Alex groaned. "I don't suppose you do take-away?"

Moyo brought his hands together in a loud clap and grinned. "Of course!"

--

"Well that was a waste of an afternoon," Alex declared as they got back into the car. "Five restaurants and we came away with nothing."

"We did get a free meal," Tony said, salvaging something good out of what Alex had rightly pointed out. From Good Haps they visited the four restaurants Sakile had suggested. All had said a variation of the same thing- no one had seen the boy and each had suggested the other four South African restaurants in Bradfield.

"I suppose it was to be expected," she mused. "Without a photo or even a day to go on, we knew it'd be lucky if we actually ended up with a lead. And the meal was delicious, so you're right, it wasn't a complete waste. But we should probably not mention it to Kevin."

Tony frowned in sympathy. "Mmm. Right. I wonder if his afternoon was more fruitful than ours?"

"I'm going to swing by the station before I pick up Ben from school. If I don't tell Kevin to leave, he'll be there all night. You need a lift home?"

"No, my car's at the station."

"Good," she replied. "You can come in and help me bear the brunt of Kevin's withering look when I ask him how his day went."

--

The presence of the coffee pot removed from its home at the machine and now sitting on Kevin's desk summed up the tediousness of the task at hand. Alex was sure that if the younger man smoked, there would have been an overflowing ashtray within arm's reach, too.

"So, have you broken the case while we were gone?" she lightly joked.

He wasn't amused by her attempt at levity. "I have never copy-and-pasted so much in my entire life." Pushing his chair back from the desk, he took the opportunity to rub his eyes and stretch. "Two airlines fly directly from South Africa to Bradfield and there are nine daily flights from Johannesburg, seven from Cape Town, six from Durban, two from Pretoria and two from some place called Bloemfontein."

"She's not very good at maths," Tony deadpanned as he thumbed in Alex's direction.

Surprisingly, this got a small smile from Kevin. "Twenty-six flights a day, which means 182 flights in the seven days we're working with. The average passenger list seems to be around 350. So, in seven days, we're talking about over 63,000 passengers."

With the enormity of the task laid out before her, Alex apologized for the work load. "Sorry, Kevin. It never occurred to me…"

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off without malice. "I've divided up the lists by city and gave one airport each to Nichols and McMillan, and Paula got the two smaller ones."

Alex nodded at the names of the other officers on her team. "Good thinking."

He smirked. "Well, I am second-in-command. If I can't pass off some of the shit to the underlings, what's the point?" Alex chuckled and he went on, "Besides, I took the Johannesburg lists to make it look good. Right now, I'm in the process of collecting the names of those who travelled with children. Once we get all five cities done, we can start tracking them down. See who comes up missing a kid."

"At risk of sounding ungrateful, how far have you gotten?"

"I think Nichols is almost finished. McMillan got the second longest list so I'll shift Nichols over to help out. And I've already given Paula two days' worth of my own lists. We should be done for tomorrow morning."

Alex glanced at the clock on his computer. "It's twenty past three now. I don't want you here past five o'clock." When she got a noncommittal response, she firmly said, "I mean it. Five o'clock comes and you go. Whatever doesn't get done today can be picked up tomorrow. I'm sure the other lists will give us enough to do in the meantime."

Kevin conceded the point. "True. I take it your afternoon came up empty?"

Alex closed Tony's mouth with a stare. "We visited a list of South African restaurants in Bradfield. We were hoping someone remembered seeing the victim, but no such luck."

"Hard to ask someone if they've seen the victim without a face to go by," Kevin said, echoing Alex's earlier comment. "But I suppose it was worth a shot."

"Hopefully, this will give us something to work with," she said and gestured to his desk. "But remember what I said- five o'clock. We'll start again in the morning."

"Yes, boss."

She turned to Tony. "What about you? You have plans for tomorrow morning, around nine?"

"I believe I'm free," Tony replied innocently.

"I'm in the wrong profession," she noted dryly. "I should have gone into teaching."

Despite Tony's expression- or perhaps because of it- Kevin laughed loudly.

--


	4. Chapter 4

--

The soft whirring of the disc in the game console sounded loud in the quiet of his flat. With the only light coming from the television, shadows were cast in odd trajectories and illuminated the angles of Tony's face as he sat directly in front of the source. Blue eyes seemed brighter as his pupils dilated into small dots and his countenance appeared both more youthful and yet more serious; the direct light softening his face but also deepening the crevices around his mouth. He sat casually in his large chair, his feet apart on the floor and the game controller held loosely between his hands which were resting on his lap. It was here that he often felt the most comfortable- alone in a dark room where the only world that demanded his attention was the virtual one that unfolded under well-practiced thumbs. Carol often joked that he spent more time with Lara Croft than any other woman.

"At least Lara won't leave me," he said to the empty room as the memory came to the fore.

He misjudged the distance of the chasm in front of Lara and she tumbled to her virtual death. The game paused for a moment before setting her back to the start of the level. Tony sighed and began again.

--

Three levels later, he allowed his mind to drift to the case. Once Kevin and the team had their list of names, Tony knew a profile of the killer would be helpful in whittling down the potential suspects.

"So who are you?" he asked aloud. "If muti isn't practiced in the UK, how did you know about it? Was it a story told to you as a child, or are you from South Africa? Hmmm. Most likely the latter, if you're a sangoma or think you are. Where would you find one here if you weren't? So you're likely from South Africa." He executed a dazzling combination of button pushes and Lara was able to grab the jewel and simultaneously back flip to the ledge behind her. "Yes!" he exclaimed in a rare outburst of enthusiasm. The next level began and he continued his profile.

"Young or old? The impatience of youth or the wisdom of age? Old. Older. Old enough to feel confident in performing the ritual. Impatience is too risky in something this important to you. Well-off financially in order to get the victim here. Paid directly or paid someone." He paused the game. "Or is it the pretence of having wealth?" He thought about this for a moment and when he agreed this was the correct line of thinking, he unpaused the screen. "You left the genitals so the motive wasn't sexually related. You left the vital organs so it wasn't about health or strength. What did Enoc say? The basic belief is about obtaining luck. You're down on your luck either personally or professionally. Professional hardship often leads to a personal one so where do my odds lie?" So pleased was he with his theory that he didn't notice he had kept his heroine under water too long and she sunk to the bottom. "Damn," he cursed at the television screen.

--

"Is that the same shirt you wore yesterday?" Alex accused her co-worker when she entered the room and saw Kevin at his desk.

Paula placed a coffee mug beside his arm and bent forward. "Smells like it," she confirmed with a grin.

Before Alex could say any more, Kevin said, "We were so close to finishing up yesterday that I figured there'd be no harm in staying a bit later."

"A bit later?" Alex repeated. "You stayed so bloody late we've come round to another day!"

"Which is a good thing," he feebly segued, "because the numbers we're working with are astronomical."

Alex frowned but held off any further recrimination, knowing they'd be fruitless. What was done was done and he was a grown man. "Fine. Tell me."

He picked up the piece of paper he had jotted all the numbers on. "The good news is, out of the 60,000 possible passengers, only 2 percent were travelling with children."

"The bad news is, that's still over 1200 names," Paula piped up.

"Or in this case, 1216 to be precise," Kevin said.

Alex sat on the corner of a nearby desk and sighed. "Christ."

"Eight hundred and sixty nine are residents of Bradfield," he went on. "Three hundred and forty seven are listed by Immigration as 'visitors'. We're about halfway through compiling an address list of each resident."

"I'm working on the visitor list," Paula informed. "That will take a bit longer. Immigration asks you where you're staying while you're here, but it's more of a customary question; they don't really keep records. So I'm going through credit card records to see if I can find out where they've been in Bradfield, hopefully track them down that way. But other than that, I'm not sure there's much else we can do but wait for them to fly back and find them through their home address.

"Which could be any time between now and next year," Alex lamented. Her two officers could do nothing but nod in helpless agreement. She thought about this for a moment, then said, "Paula, see if anyone's left yet. How long would you want to stay around if you're involved in a murder? Our link to the killer might have left already. And that list has got to be a sight shorter than what you've been working with."

Paula wasted no time following Alex's direction. "I'm on it, boss," she replied.

Alex slid off her perch and looked around. "Have you seen Tony?" she asked Kevin. As if summoned by her words, Tony appeared in the doorway. The timing was so startlingly coincidental that Alex couldn't help but crack, "Kevin, have you seen the million pounds I left lying around?" She paused, pretending to wait for it to materialize. Kevin laughed. "Well, it was worth a shot," she said. Turning her attention to a confused Tony, she remarked, "You're late."

He held out the cardboard tray of Styrofoam coffee containers. "I decided to pick these up on the way. I thought Kevin might like some real coffee after pulling an all-nighter."

Kevin took the steaming cup and said, "Cheers, Tony."

"There's one for Paula, one for you and one for me," he told Alex.

"What a minute," she said. "You knew Kevin would stay all night?"

He had the good grace to not roll his eyes, though his tone was a verbal equivalent. "I _am_ a psychologist. I would think reading people would be in the job description."

"Because you've brought coffee, I'll ignore your cheek," she told him.

"Speaking of reading people," Tony said, "I started a profile of our killer."

"Go on."

Dutifully, Tony began, "Based on the root of the killing and the time commitment the killer would have to give to it, I'd say he's between 35 and 50. He's not likely to find a sangoma in Bradfield, so he's probably one himself, or has studied muti enough to think he is. That takes time. He's not going to rush into it." He took a sip of his coffee and watched as Kevin jotted down the thumbnail profile.

"I'm a bit lost," Kevin admitted. "Muti? Sangoma? What's that about?"

Realizing only she and Tony had shared the muti theory, she answered, "Sorry, Kev. We're thinking the killer wasn't some random nutter, but one with a very specific plan behind the murder."

"So a meticulous nutter then," Kevin said.

Tony frowned at the term. "A killer with a very specific agenda."

"An agenda that seems to be following the South African practice of muti killing," Alex quickly jumped in, diffusing Tony's ire. "The murder was essentially a sacrificial one."

"For what purpose?"

"Luck, if you can believe it," she told her fellow officer.

"If you had asked me five years ago, I would have said I didn't," Kevin said. "But I've just about seen it all."

Not for the first time, Tony wondered about the psychology behind being a cop. Did they come into the job with a natural tendency to be jaded that the profession simply brought to light, or was it something that grew in them, like a second skin, the emotional psyche's way of protecting itself?

"So it was a sacrifice of some sort," Kevin picked up his thought. "Why didn't we see any evidence of that at the crime scene?"

"In this case, Kevin, the sacrifice was most likely a consumptive one," Tony explained.

It took a moment for the other man to decipher what Tony meant, and it was his eyes that registered the understanding. "Jesus."

"So we're looking for a male?" Alex asked, trying to get things back on track.

Tony nodded. "Considering the nature of the murder, I'd say so. Not only would it have taken a lot of physical strength to perform, but women are generally not inclined to murder in such a gruesome manner. Female killers seem to prefer poison or a quick blow to the head, a single thrust of the knife, one bullet and the like."

"Yes, we are quite efficient," Alex wryly agreed.

Tony's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he went on, "I first thought he would be wealthy, based on the costs he must have incurred not only in bringing the victim here, but no doubt also paying some kind of fee for the victim himself. But then I wondered if the wealth wasn't simply an illusion, and that the lack of wealth was at the heart of the ritual? What other motive could be behind the killing?"

"Right," Alex agreed, following his train of thought. "It wasn't sexually motivated, and the only things missing were the limbs and the head."

"And the blood," Kevin added ruefully.

Tony nodded again. "But none of the vial organs were missing- nothing that would indicate something specific was the expected 'reward' for the sacrifice except good fortune."

"Which is why you think he's not really wealthy," Alex surmised.

"He must have some source of income, but no doubt he's robbing Peter to pay Paul. He's struggling to maintain an image of wealth but he could only keep the balls in the air for so long."

"Beyond the basic question of what gets inside someone's head to make them do something like that, what I want to know is, why go through all the trouble of having the victim brought here?" Kevin wondered.

"Maybe he thought the disappearance of a child here would draw more attention," Tony mused.

"Hmmm, I don't think so," Alex responded. "I don't know the South African numbers, but 70,000 kids go missing every year in the UK."

"Seventy thousand?" Tony repeated incredulously. "I had no idea…"

"That number also includes suspected runaways, but it's still staggering to contemplate," Kevin said.

Tony pondered Kevin's earlier question. "Perhaps there was a debt involved between the killer and the person who supplied the victim- the killer was finally collecting? The inconvenience lies in the fact the killer had to get the victim here, but that was counterbalanced by the ease in which the accomplice could pay his debt and leave undetected."

"One of the many things I'll be asking if we ever track down either person," Alex promised. Turning to Kevin, she asked, "Realistically, how much longer until the address list is completed?"

He blew out a long breath and looked around his desk, as if measuring the work still to be done. "Lunch time," he guessed. "Mid-afternoon at the latest."

"Okay. I've got to see Chief Constable Eden about brining in extra help to do the visitations. I can't wait to see the look on his face when I tell him we need to knock on 800 doors."

"That's why you're the boss," Kevin said.

"Mmm," she replied and asked Tony, "What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"I'm going to go see someone, too," he answered.

"Well don't venture too far," she told him. "I'll ring when we've got something to go on."

--


	5. Chapter 5

--

He took heed of her advice, as his destination was only a ten-minute drive away. As he ventured into the mortuary, the sterility of the room, like the pathology theatre, made him think once again of how unsettling the bright white of the lights seemed to be.

"He's here," Vernon announced, his voice booming in the silent room.

Tony jumped at the contrast but collected himself and nodded to the square door bearing the plain white index card that only said, 'John Doe, aged 6'.

The pathologist could see Tony's distain at the lack of imagination. "I only give them a name when we've exhausted all avenues in contacting next of kin. Seems presumptuous of me otherwise." At this, Tony murmured a kind of forgiveness. Vernon held the stainless steel handle. "If I may ask, why do you need to see the body? I assure you, I didn't miss anything."

Tony waved off the comment. "I have every confidence you've done your job thoroughly. I just thought if I spent some time with him, it would help me put things together more clearly."

"And I thought you were a psychologist, not a psychic," Vernon jibed. Failing to get a rise out of Tony, the pathologist shrugged and opened the door. "Right, I'll leave you to it. I'll expect you to put everything as it was when you go."

Tony waited for the older man to leave before he gently pulled out the narrow table. His first thought was to wonder what kind of mindset one would need to devise child-sized body bags. Yet even their size was too big for what remained of John Doe, aged six. He refrained from unzipping the bag, but drew a nearby stool over to the table. The metal legs scraped loudly across the stone floor and Tony made a face, as if to apologize for the noise. He sat with heels hooked onto the foot rests of the stool, his elbows rested on knees, and his head cupped in his hands.

He gazed intently at the covered remains and tried to imagine what it had looked like when it was a fully formed 6 year old boy. Was he vibrant and outgoing, or was he quiet and introverted? What was his favourite toy, his favourite food, his favourite game? What kind of dreams did he have? Most likely, as with any 6 year old, his thoughts only encompassed the now, today. Children rarely thought about yesterday, let alone tomorrow. And if he had taken a moment to think about his life ahead, what did he see in his future? Tony was certain John Doe, aged six hadn't seen this.

An image of Ben flashed in his mind, and it surprised him. Tony was generally very careful to not bring personal associations into a case; it only led to unprofessional theories. But he let the image linger in lieu of this boy's identity. Ben, only a year older, full of life and potential. What kind of person would take that away? What kind of person would allow that to be taken away? Tony waited for some kind of answer, but none came in the quiet room.

--

The ring of his cell phone startled him, and he was surprised to see two hours had passed without him being aware. The tiny screen read 'Alex', and he flicked open the phone.

"Tony," he identified himself, on the off-chance she might think some stranger had picked up his phone and answered for him.

"Tony, it's Alex," she said, knowing full well he had call display, but playing along on the off-chance he might think some stranger had picked up her phone and decided to give him a call.

"Oh, hello, Alex."

She heard the faint echo of his voice in the small room. "Where are you?"

"The mortuary. Thought it might manufacture a lead on the killer."

"Any luck?"

"No, not really."

"Well, we might have a break."

Tony's eyebrows rose. "Already?"

"I had asked Paula to see if anyone had returned to South Africa within the week they arrived. I thought it had to be a shorter list than what Kevin was compiling. Sure enough, she found five people who had children with them on the way to the UK- two of them returned to Johannesburg alone."

"That's brilliant," he praised.

Though he couldn't see it, she nodded and smiled. "We've notified the Johannesburg authorities. They're looking for the passengers now."

"I have to admit, Alex, I wasn't expecting such a good lead so soon."

"Neither was I," she confessed, "but I'm trying not to get too far ahead. This might be the big break or it might mean nothing."

"Much to Kevin's chagrin, no doubt."

Her laughter rolled down the line. "Yeah. If it turns out to be a good lead, the credit falls on Paula's desk. If it's nothing, there are 800 doors to look forward to. You coming back? We should hear from them in a few hours."

Tony appreciated her invitation. It signified an inclusion to the case and the team that certainly hadn't been there when he met her over a year ago. As was his habit, he deflected the compliment. "You just want me to bring fresh coffee," he replied, and enjoyed hearing her laugh again.

--

When Tony walked into Alex's office 15 minutes later with his caffeine offering, her demeanour had changed.

"Bad news?" he asked as he handed her a cup across the desk and sat down.

Her face was hard and serious, a contrast to what he had imagined it to be on the phone. "No," she shook her head. Realizing how unconvincing it sounded, she added, "Actually, it's good news. Johannesburg called. They tracked down one of the two passengers who flew back without the child they had brought with them. The young boy had been visiting relatives in Johannesburg and his uncle brought him back. We tracked down the parents here in Bradfield and the boy is safe and sound." Rather than speaking, Tony waited for her to continue. "They can't find the second passenger, a man by the name of Nkosi Mutasa. They tried to find him through his credit card use, but in the process found something interesting. The plane ticket of both Mr. Mutusa and his 6 year old companion, Kayode Dikobe, was paid for by a Sigidi Amadi."

She waited as he put the information together. As she expected, it didn't take long. "Sigidi Amadi," he repeated. "Amadi. The owner of one of the restaurants we visited had the last name of Amadi."

"Dangor Amadi, owner of The Brani," she supplied.

"Right," he replied, snapping his fingers at the information. "Well that can't be a coincidence."

"No, I should think not. Johannesburg says Sigidi is his father."

His eyes narrowed as he took in her response. "What's the catch, Alex? Something's not sitting right with you."

She sat back in her chair and nursed her coffee on her lap. Looking out the window that separated her office from the hustle of the hallway, she revealed, "The name Amadi set off alarm bells in Johannesburg. It seems Dangor Amadi is wanted for questioning in the disappearances of several children in the last few years."

"Child trafficking?"

"I would have thought there'd be money in it," Alex said, alluding to Tony's earlier profile.

He shrugged. "That kind of operation, there must be loads of people to pay off. The supplier, the movers, anyone who houses the child along the way. In fact, what I find odd is that Amadi took the direct route with his last victim. Trafficking is generally an intricate web of contacts and so-called 'safe houses'. I would think moving a child from South Africa to the UK would have been a process through various countries, in order to avoid the police drawing a line directly from Point A to Point B." He ruminated over what he knew and what might be. "If he is involved in trafficking, perhaps his last victim was a completely different situation. The rest were 'professional', so to speak, but this one was personal."

Alex's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe we'll find out when the South African police show up and ask him."

"Sorry?"

"They're sending someone from Johannesburg to do the inquiry."

Tony blinked in confusion. "But it's our case."

This got a weak smile from Alex. "Technically, you're not involved," she reminded him. "Anyway, I was told if I had a complaint to bring it up with INTERPOL who have given jurisdiction to Johannesburg."

"When do you expect them?"

"It's a 12 hour flight. I shouldn't think they'll be showing up until sometime tomorrow. I was informed they'd call in the morning."

Tony slumped back, defeated, and the silence stretched out between them. At last, he said with a small measure of resignation, "You know, we- sorry, I mean you- should be happy. If this leads to the arrest of Kayode's murderer, that can only be a good thing."

"I know."

"You just don't like it when someone encroaches on your territory. It's a natural reaction to feel defensive in this situation."

She sharply turned in his direction. "I hate it when you analyze me. I'm not one of your patients, Tony."

Taken aback by her tone, he waited for her to say more, but when it was obvious nothing was forthcoming, he stood. "Well, my work here is done."

"Will you be here in the morning?" she asked, the question sounding softer than her declaration.

"I have a class seminar to prepare for Friday," he told her, "but I'm sure I can find time to check on your case."

"Our case," she corrected. "Just don't tell anyone."

He smiled and nodded. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tony-" He turned to the address. Alex opened her mouth to speak, then appeared to change her mind. She false started once more before deciding on a different subject. "You can always come over tonight for dinner," she said.

He held his watch up to his ear as if checking to see if it was working. "Did I miss an entire week somewhere? Is it Ben's night already?"

Her smile was faint, but her voice was warm. "The door's always open."

There was something in her entire demeanour- her expression, her body language, her tone- that plucked a wary string in Tony's brain, but not being able to pinpoint the cause, he simply nodded and gave his thanks. "Careful you don't let just any nutter in."

"No," she assured him, "I won't. Just you."

--

As it turned out, Tony declined the dinner invitation and instead worked on the lecture for his next class. While he wouldn't say teaching bored him, he would confess- much to his surprise- that it felt as if it had become a second or even third priority in his professional life, jostling with his private practice for a spot behind his work with the police. Of course, so much of his personal life now seemed to be connected to his partnership with Bradfield's finest that it was hard to determine where the line was drawn between them. Regardless of how things did or didn't work out with Carol, there was a definite change not only in how he viewed people, but in how they viewed him. He would never be the life of the party, but he felt in the years since his first police case that he had become somewhat palatable in social settings.

He never took the cases personally, but the outcomes were of vital importance to him, and not simply to see wrongs righted. Whether he would admit it or not, success quelled that voice of self-doubt that told him his worth to Carol, to Alex, was only based on how well he succeeded. So he worked harder, thought farther ahead, contemplated more scenarios than anyone else in order to prove his worth. If a patient had laid that scenario out before him, Tony would gently remind them that self-worth shouldn't be based on the perception of others. Of course, as lawyers shouldn't represent themselves, psychologists weren't the best choice at self-diagnosis. Tony chose to ignore his doctor voice and turned his attention away from the quickly completed university lecture and back to the case they'd be handing over to the South African authorities in the morning.

--


	6. Chapter 6

--

"You didn't bring coffee," Alex complained when she saw him.

Tony stopped two feet into the office. "I brought it yesterday. And good morning." Sitting down, he unbuttoned his jacket and asked, "Any word from the Cape Town cops?"

His inflection purposely made it sound like 'Keystone Cops' and Alex sighed. "Johannesburg. They already called and will be in before lunch."

"Really? They're certainly eager."

"Yes, well…" she trailed off. "I need to speak to you about something before they arrive."

"Don't worry," he assured her. "I'll refrain from further analyzing your feelings about having your authority usurped."

"Thank you," she drolly replied, "but it's not that." She paused and looked down at her desk top. "Tony, I don't even know where to begin…"

He shifted in his seat, wary of her hesitance. "At risk of sounding clichéd, I'd say the beginning's always the best place to start."

She nodded at his advice but remained silent. After what appeared to be an internal debate, she said, "Chief Constable Eden doesn't want you here when the South African police show up. He doesn't think it would be in the department's best interest to appear as if we can't handle our own cases."

Something in her tone made Tony doubt this was the heart of whatever it was she wanted to share with him, but there was just enough possibility in the comment that he couldn't outright dismiss it. Despite the continued success of his partnership with the police, those in higher positions had yet to let go of archaic beliefs and embrace the concept of psychological profiling. An officer's world was starkly black and white and Tony brought, for some, too much grey to the situation. Whatever Alex's original thought had been, she was clever enough to substitute it with something that had more than a slight chance of being true.

"Doesn't want to look new-agey, does he?" he remarked.

"No. You know how some people feel about you working with the police."

He showed her a small smile. "If I recall, you were one of those people."

Bowing her head in contrition, she admitted, "True. But I soon saw the error of my ways."

The lightness in her voice didn't escape him and he tilted his chin upward. "I suppose that's acceptable." When the gentle ribbing of the mood dissipated between them, he looked around and slapped his hands on his knees. "I'll be on my way, then, unless you need me for something else."

"Well," she replied, feeling guilty for being the architect of his quick exit, "why don't we go over the case, just so I've got everything set in my head before they get here?"

--

It didn't take long for the two of them to re-visit the information that had been collected since the discovery of the body five days ago. While she would have to hand over the files, Alex also made point-form notes as a way to summarize the information for the South African representative, and to keep everything organized in her own mind. They had just finished when Kevin knocked on the door.

"Sorry, guv," he said, and greeted Tony with a nod of his head. "Eden's downstairs. Wants to have a word."

"Couldn't come up and tell me himself?" Alex rhetorically asked.

"Probably wants to make sure I'm gone," Tony said.

"Probably woke up from his dream of being Deputy Commissioner and realized DI Fielding really did ask for an extra 40 officers to knock on doors," Kevin corrected.

Alex rolled her eyes and stood up. "It's too bloody early for a bollocking." When Tony stood up as well, she came round her desk and touched his arm. "No, you stay here. We've still got a good hour and I want to go over alternate theories. We've pinned our flag to this muti theory, but let's make sure we've explored all other avenues before closing them."

"Okay."

"Don't go anywhere," she told him. "I'll be right back. And don't sit in my chair."

--

Tony was at the police station so much, Kevin once joked that he should share an office with Alex. That teasing had become a running joke between them on the rare occasion he was left alone in her office. Naturally, the minute she had left the room with Kevin, Tony made his way round the desk and sat in the large leather seat. He would claim it made it easier to read the case file and her notes, he thought with a smile.

Not that it would have been entirely untrue. In the chair, he perused over her notes and reached out for a pen to make additions in the margin. With the few that needed to be done complete, he looked around the office and absently whistled a tune. His first instinct, as usual, was to analyze the contents of the room- of any room- but remembering Alex's scowl, he decided a safer pursuit would be to practice Friday's lecture in his head. Sitting back, he closed his eyes and began visualizing the class.

--

It was like this that she found him, as she stood in the open doorway with her hand poised for a customary knock. The gasp of surprise caught in her throat and she pushed away the impulse to bolt. She was here on professional business, she thought to herself. Best to act professional. And in a heartbeat, seeing him had casually destroyed her carefully constructed return.

How long has it been, she wondered. A year? She purposely attempted a vague reference of time, stifling her inner calendar before it could recite the absence down to the minute. Things change in a year, don't they? She asked herself. Yet looking at him now it seemed more likely things had stayed the same. A few more lines around the mouth and eyes, a touch of grey at his temples, but there was an overall sense of sameness to him that she found surprisingly comforting. Still has that ghastly sense of fashion, she noted, and it brought a smile to her face. Remembering his smile, hers faded.

Who is making him smile now? He appeared to be close enough with the current DI that he would doze comfortably in her seat. Maybe it was this Fielding woman. No, she tried to tell herself, it was because he was more inclined to find comfort in work and ritual. The fact that he was still working with the police didn't surprise her. It grounded him and gave him an excuse to lift his head up from his books, but still kept him well within his comfort zone. At least, that's what her head was saying. Her heart had no answers, only questions. Did he simply take her out of the equation and put DI Fielding in her place? Was this only a professional replacement?

--

A familiar scent wafted through the air, and he roused himself from what he thought must have been a dream. He opened his eye and lazily blinked a few times before realizing he wasn't alone. The presence in the doorway made him sit up, the chair returning to its upright position with a thud loud enough that it would have jolted anyone awake. Yet his demeanour was one of a man who thought- hoped- he was still sleeping. Had it been any other situation, he might have laughed at the sight he must have been. Rubbing his eyes, hoping to erase the image from them, he then looked around the office- the same office he had stopped short of examining… a minute ago? An hour ago? A lifetime ago? He wished he had taken the time to catalogue all the little details. It was always the details that tipped you off to a dream, he thought. Was the picture frame on the wall really blue, or was it his subconscious filling in the gap with his favourite colour? He didn't recall the carpet being grey and he cursed himself for not paying closer attention. But he was certain it was a dream. He didn't want to contemplate what it would mean otherwise.

"Carol," he finally croaked out, hoping the sound of a simple name would shock him awake.

"Hello, Tony," she replied softly.

It wasn't a dream. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat constricted so tightly that he could feel the pulsing of the blood as it rushed to his head. What he didn't notice was his right hand coming up to press against his chest, though even if he had been aware, he wouldn't have known if it was to feel the comfort of the rise and fall of his lungs, or to protect his heart.

--


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This one's a short one, but the tone is a bit different from what will follow (a Carol/Alex scene), so I wanted to keep the scenes separate.

--

As it had always been, it was his eyes that said everything. Those startling blue eyes. There was a time when she had been privileged to see a spectrum of emotions thorough those eyes- anger, happiness, sadness, love. And now she saw only pain. She stepped into the room, her first instinct to move closer to him to silently offer her support, as she had always done. She was two steps in when she reminded herself that she was the cause of his reaction. Stopping abruptly, she stood self-consciously in front of him, and he sat, dumbfounded.

--

"Sorry about that Tony- " Alex stopped short in the doorway. The tableau before her seemed frozen in time, and biting back an expletive, she wondered how best to address the situation.

She was saved the effort when Carol finally turned to her. "Superintendent Carol Jordan, Johannesburg police."

Alex returned the customary hand shake with as much professionalism as she could muster. "Detective Inspector Alex Fielding."

It wasn't what was in Alex's reply, but what was missing that, had he been more lucid, would have rang alarm bells in Tony's head. As it was, Alex's appearance distracted him enough that he was able to stand and draw a deep breath to speak.

"I went over your notes and made a few additions, I hope you don't mind," he strung together. Using all his strength to get out the words, he wasn't sure how well his legs would fare, but after a tentative step to the side, it seemed his body blessedly had enough left to get him as far away from this emotional train wreck as he could. The aptly named sympathetic nervous system always gave two choices- fight or flight- and he was bloody well choosing the latter. With the fingertips of his right hand stuttering along the edge of the edge of the desk for balance, he came round the desk and brushed past Carol without a glance or a word. He barely raised his eyes to Alex to say, "Sorry about the bit with the chair." Without a pause in his staggering stride, he left the office with little regard to direction or destination.

--

His lack of direction led him to the emergency stairwell of the building rather than the regular set of stairs that always took him to Alex's floor, and the stark white walls and grey concrete steps momentarily added to his disorientation. Tony's confusion was such that he had to stop briefly to get his bearings. His physical orientation was easier to balance than the emotional one, but he pushed down that thought and continued the slow descent.

"Tony!" Alex's voice called out, bouncing eerily throughout the stairwell. He quickened his pace but she easily caught up. Holding out his blue bag, she said, "You forgot this."

"Thank you," he replied simply, before taking the bag and turning.

"Tony," she repeated, stopping his progress with a touch on his arm. When he pointed his attention towards her, she faltered, those blue eyes halting the words in her throat. She feebly said, "I don't know what to say."

There it was again, he thought; the very same tone that had been in her earlier declaration of not knowing where to begin. The light slowly dawned and he laughed mirthlessly. "I see. You knew." Nothing came from her that would indicate any kind of denial. In fact, quite the opposite. Her eyes averted from his and she said nothing in return. "So Eden not wanting me here- that was a lie."

"No," she quickly answered. "I mean, you know how he feels about calling you in to help. He mentioned it briefly when I put in the request for extra officers."

"So not entirely a lie, just a smokescreen." His thinly veiled sneer told her he didn't make much of a distinction between the two.

Immediately on the defensive, she said, "I don't know what you want me to say!"

Tony shook his head. "You don't have to say anything, Alex. Clearly, it's all my fault and I should thank you. Instead of trusting that I could hear the truth, you chose to shelter me by counting on the fact that Carol bloody Jordan could return to her stomping grounds, take over a case I've had a hand in building, help you solve it, and then leave under the cover of darkness like she was never here!" His voice rose with every word and he stopped to catch his breath. Slightly calmer, he added, "And I'd never find out."

"I didn't think it sounded that foolish in my head," she quietly replied.

"Do me a favour, Alex," he requested. "God forbid I ever have another day like this, but should it ever happen again, and you're thinking of a way to minimize the damage, don't. Thinking isn't your strong suit."

She recoiled as if she had been slapped. He quickly descended the last few steps and slammed open the emergency door, sending a loud banging echo throughout the narrow stairwell.

--


	8. Chapter 8

--

She waited until she felt her professional mask fall back into place before returning to her office. Entering the room, she noticed Carol had sat down and appeared to be patiently waiting, as if oblivious to the turmoil her presence had created. Or perhaps that was her professional mask. Alex confidently strode around her desk and sat in the chair Tony had vacated. Her movements crisp and economical, she handed the case file across to her visitor. "This is what we have thus far. The pathologist's report is included as well as the names we were able to glean from the airlines. These names were the ones that raised a flag."

Carol accepted it with a polite, "Thank you."

Alex hesitated briefly when she saw her sheet of notes. Tony's familiar handwriting stood out in the margin and she debated whether or not to give it to Carol. Deciding the needs of the victim superseded whatever personal events were now tied to the case, she picked up the single piece of paper and held it out. "Point-form notes to make referencing easier," she told Carol. "Tony Hill's additions are there as well." It was the first time his name had been mentioned between them. Though she might not have the same skills at reading people that Tony possessed, she had spent enough time as an officer to catch Carol's reaction. While small, the quickly clenched jaw and blink of the eyes gave her away. Carol tried to cover her 'tells' by brushing back a strand of her ash blonde hair behind her right ear, but it only added to her reaction. Alex folded her hands on her desk and said, "Next time, you might try calling him instead of letting it drop on someone else's lap."

Carol's head sharply jerked up from the file. "I beg your pardon?"

"Did you really think you could come back to Bradfield and leave again without him finding out?" Alex asked, repeating Tony's accusation.

"I don't really see how that concerns you."

"Look," Alex said, "I'm not here to get into a pissing contest with you about Tony Hill. You're right, whatever you two have- or don't have- going on between you is of no concern of mine. But when it comes to affecting a member of my team, then it clearly is my business. You of all people know his value to this department and I'd appreciate not having that balance upset."

The two headstrong women took a moment to catalogue the other and just when it appeared neither would yield, Carol said, "So noted."

The impasse solved, Alex gestured to the file. "You know, we're not even sure this Dangor Amadi is our man. We only got as far as back-tracking the passengers who returned to South Africa when Johannesburg notified us and put the brakes on our investigation."

"Oh, he's our man," Carol assured her. "He's a suspect in over half a dozen missing children cases. I was lucky enough- or not, depending on your view- to have been there when the first case came in over a year ago, so I've got a special interest in catching this bastard."

"Have you ever found any of the children?"

"No, this is a new development. But then, I don't think he was using the other children for a personal reason."

"Straight forward trafficking."

Carol nodded. "Yes. We're assuming these other children are somewhere in Europe, most likely chained to a bed or locked in a basement, abused in any number of ways by someone most people would say 'seemed like such a nice man'."

The deadness in Carol's voice made Alex grimace. "Oh, god."

"Sorry," she apologized. "I realized the other day that I've been doing this for almost 20 years. I tried to figure out when I had become so jaded."

"Tony would say it's a defence mechanism," Alex gently offered.

This time, his name drew a smile from Carol. "Yes, I suppose he would."

"So what's the next step with this case?"

Carol looked down at the file again. "I didn't see a bone analysis from the pathologist."

Alex shook her head. "I don't know that he took one. He didn't say."

"The results take a bit longer to come in than the others. Bone minerals can pinpoint where the victim spent the majority of his life. It'll be our best chance to prove it's Kayode Kikobe if we don't find a DNA donor. Ashley Vernon still the pathologist?"

"God help us, yes," Alex quipped.

"It will be like old times, getting his ass in gear."

"Some things never change."

Carol thought about the comment for a moment. "No, I suppose they don't." Memories flashes across her face and she shook them away. "I'd like to pay Mr. Amadi an informal visit. Interested?"

"Very."

--

"So why South Africa?" Alex asked as she navigated the narrow streets. Seeing the sidelong look cast by Carol, Alex smirked. "Idle curiosity to fill in the awkward gaps of silence, nothing more."

"I needed a change. It took me ten years to get to DCI here. I didn't think politics would see me getting much further any time soon."

Alex thought of her own position, two ranks lower than the one Carol has before leaving. "That's not a comforting thought."

"Sorry," Carol apologized. "What do I know? Maybe things have changed after all."

"I won't hold my breath for that promotion, then."

Carol's laughter filled the small car. "Best not, no. Is Kevin Geoffries still on your team?"

"Yep," Alex nodded. "So is Paula McIntyre."

"That's good. They're great cops. You've got a good team there."

Alex acknowledged the remark. "I do." She caught Carol gazing wistfully out the passenger window. "You miss it," she said, more statement than query.

It took Carol a long time before she replied. "I do miss parts of it."

Alex didn't need to be a cop to suss out what- or who- Carol meant.

--


	9. Chapter 9

--

"Ah, so nice to see you again," the tall dark-skinned man greeted Alex when the women entered the restaurant. "DS Fielding, yes?"

"DI," she corrected and gestured to the taller woman behind her. "This is Superintendent Carol Jordan from the Johannesburg police."

His eyes narrowed at the name, but he held out his hand to her. "Dangor Amadi."

"Yes, I know," Carol tersely replied, ignoring the outstretched hand. There was something about the impeccable suit and perfect white teeth that inexplicably offended her, and there was an aura of smarminess about him that wasn't to her liking. Even if he had not been the primary suspect in a murder case, Carol was certain she'd despise him. She cut to the chase and pulled out copies of two passport photos. "Do you recognize either of these people?"

He barely glanced down before replying, "I'm afraid I've never seen them before."

"Do you make a habit out of buying plane tickets for people you've never seen, Mr. Amadi?"

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"The man's name is Nkosi Mutasa. The boy's name is Kayode Dikobe. Credit card records show you bought them both a plane ticket from Johannesburg to Bradfield. Immigration recorded them entering the country five days ago. Mr. Mutasa returned to Johannesburg the very next day. We have no such record of Kayode leaving. We can't seem to find Mr. Mutasa, so I'm here to ask you- where's Kayode Dikobe been for the last five days?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Carol repeated incredulously. "You paid for two people to come to Bradfield. One left. And you're telling me you don't know what happened to Kayode?"

He placed his hand over his heart. "Ms. Jordan. I owed their family a great favour, so when I was asked if I could assist them in coming to England, I agreed."

"How are they related?"

"I believe Kayode was Nkosi's nephew."

"Was?" Carol caught. Before he could say more, she said, "So, you paid for two tickets and didn't see them at all?"

"I had no idea what their intentions were when they arrived. I know I gladly helped them with their journey, but once they arrived…" he held out his hands.

For the first time since introducing Carol, Alex spoke. "Where is the mother in all this?" When Amadi shook his head in confusion, she went on, "The uncle and nephew came over. Why not the mother and son? Or is she here already?"

"I do not know. Perhaps she's in Johannesburg and thought it easier to send her brother ahead with the boy to establish a life for her to come to. It's much easier for a man to gain employment."

"What's the mother's name?"

He looked at Carol. "I don't know."

"You know Nkosi is her brother, but you don't know her name?" Amadi said nothing in return and Carol curtly answered for him. "No, of course you don't."

"I know Nkosi. I don't know the rest of the family."

"The family to whom you owe this great debt," Alex filled in.

"I owed it to Nkosi."

Alex nodded, but her countenance showed she didn't believe a word. "If Mr. Mutasa was sent ahead to get things started, why did he leave next day?"

Carol snorted. "Let me guess- you don't know." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a white card and scribbled a number on the back. "This is my number. I'll be staying in Bradfield until things get answered to my satisfaction. Please feel free to call me anytime, should you hear from Mr. Mutasa or suddenly remember something that might be construed as useful."

With an exchange of looks between them, both women strode out of the restaurant. Outside in the bright light of the noonday sun, Alex shook her head. "The bastard knows something."

"The bastard knows everything," Carol said.

As they walked back to the car, Alex noted, "He didn't deny it when you said he booked the tickets- it was he father's name that showed up on the credit card records."

"Had he come out and corrected me, it would be admitting to knowing, so he simply chose to ignore my mistake and get to his story, where he could play up this helpful but oblivious debt-repayer. And there's a certain smarminess to him that just reeks of someone who thinks they're more clever than the police."

"Or just luckier."

Carol's hand was on the passenger door and she looked across the top of the car at Alex. "If Kayode died for the reasons Tony thinks, I suppose Mr. Amadi would have to believe it worked. So yes, I suppose the bastard does think he's luckier."

They got into their respective seats and clicked home their seat belts. As Alex turned the ignition, she said, "You know, we're not even certain the body we found is Kayode Dikobe. Everything we have is circumstantial, including Amadi's non-denial."

"I'll put a call in to my office and see if we can track down the mother through Kayode's birth records," Carol replied. "In the meantime, we might not have a DNA comparison, but we can move the I.D one step closer if Ashley Vernon has something to tell me."

--

"Well!" the pathologist exclaimed when he saw Carol in the doorway. "I thought I'd long gotten past anything shocking me." He gestured her in and embraced her warmly. "How are you, Carol?"

Taken aback by this rare display of affection, Carol awkwardly patted the shoulders of the taller man. "I'm well, Ashley, and you?"

He pulled back and was all business once again. "You didn't even say goodbye," he gruffed. "I didn't know you were gone until this one-" he jerked his thumb in Alex's direction, "walked in on a crime scene like Amanda bloody Burton." The women laughed and he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Here in Bradfield, or here in this room?" Carol asked in return. She saw his mouth open to retort and she quickly carried on, "I'm on a case that has ties in Johannesburg. And I'm here to see if you've got the results in on the bone test for the body found in Marden Woods."

"The six-year old John Doe?"

Carol nodded. "Nothing's 100 percent as of yet, but we're fairly certain your John Doe is Kayode Dikobe. I'm hoping the bone results will help out."

"It won't help you identify him," Vernon warned.

"I know," she replied, "but if it pinpoints where the victim's from, it means we're going in the right direction."

"All right," he said. "I'll talk to the lab and see if we can't get a fire lit under their asses. I'll try to have something for you by the morning."

"Thank you." She paused and took in the man she had never gotten to know during her time in Bradfield. "It really was good to see you, Ashley."


	10. Chapter 10

--

The knock roused him from a light slumber on his couch, and, setting aside the heavy book that had dropped to his chest, Tony stood up and padded to the door. The brass chain lock prevented him from opening it all the way, but in the five inches it allowed, he already saw his visitor. Identification made, he softly closed the door again.

She waited patiently, thinking he was unclasping the lock, but when several seconds went by, she realized he was doing no such thing. "Tony," Carol called out. "Come on. Let me in." Stepping forward, she spoke softly into the thick oak. "Please, Tony." Another eternity passed until she heard the click of the bolt turn and the door open.

"How did you find me?" were the first words from his mouth.

"Well, I do work for the police," she half-heartedly joked. When this received no response, she admitted, "I called Alex."

"You could have called me," he told her, and walked back into the living room, leaving her in the doorway.

Carol knew his comment had an additional accusation simmering beneath the surface, but she let it go for now. Hanging up her coat, she kicked off her shoes and followed him in. The flat was larger than the one she remembered, but the space was too much, and paired with Tony's lack of interest in home decorating, it felt cold. As with his original flat, everywhere she looked, it seemed as if there were nothing but books and papers. And more books. But this was not covering a living area; there were no glimpses of comfort here. It had function but not life. It was all work and no pleasure.

Tony saw her quick judgment and said, "It needs a woman's touch. Alas…" He pointed to a nearby chair. "Sit. Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Wine?"

"Do you have anything stronger?" Carol asked with a nervous smile.

Tony's demeanour thawed slightly. "No, I'm sorry, I don't."

"Wine, then."

From her chair, she could see him in the small kitchen, reaching for the glasses, turning for the wine. His feet were bare and the blue sweat pants and grey t-shirt undid the image of the slightly befuddled intellectual he portrayed during the day. She wondered how many people got to see this side of Tony Hill. And not for the first time in the 16 months since she left, she wondered if she had done the right thing. She was caught off-guard by the tears that quickly threatened, and she willed them back.

Tony returned to the living room and handed her a glass. He tilted his head at her refusal to look at him when she took the offering, but he said nothing. Putting the bottle on the table between them, he sat on the couch and took a sip of the red wine. He leaned his head back and asked, "So… how did things go with Alex?"

Had she given it thought, she knew she shouldn't be surprised that he began by talking about work. "Things went quite well, I think."

"Good."

She took a larger sip of her own drink, but knew there wasn't enough liquid courage in the world to help her. So instead of waiting for divine assistance, she simply said, "I'm sorry, Tony."

"Yep," he replied, not moving. "So am I, Carol." He downed the rest of his wine and leaned forward to fill his glass. With his elbows on his knees and his fingertips dangling the glass by the rim, he watched the light hit the coloured liquid. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you to stay. Or call. Or write."

"Tony…"

"Do you know how I found out, Carol?" He chanced a glance at her, then looked down again. "I walked into your office- only to find it wasn't yours anymore. Do you know who told me? Alex Fielding. Someone I didn't even know knew before I did."

"I didn't know how to tell you."

"Yes, I could see how that might be a problem. I mean, you must have had what- a month from the time you were offered the job to the day you left? Or did they simply find your name in the Bradfield Police directory, call you up, and offer you the job, on the condition that you picked up and moved that instant?" He looked at her again and this time it was Carol who looked away. "So you had a good month to ponder how you were going to get out of town without me finding out. Well, congratulations, Carol. Well done. It was a disappearing act that would have made Houdini proud."

"You don't know how difficult it was for me," Carol told him.

"Because you never told me."

"I couldn't. You were still dealing with your brain tumour. The problem was, you couldn't see that so was I." He frowned in confusion. "You have no idea how scared shitless I was, Tony. One day things are going as they always did, the next, you're telling me you have less than six months to live. You have no idea what that's like."

"I was the one with the tumour. I think I have an idea."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think you do, not from my perspective. I suddenly had to face the prospect that the man I- that the man I love was going to be taken from me."

His head jerked back at her revelation. She had uttered that four letter word- the word they had silently acknowledged in their own way, but somewhere had mutually decided to never confront. It had always lingered unspoken between them. Unspoken but understood. To hear it out loud shocked Tony into silence, and his reaction didn't go unnoticed by Carol.

With a small smile, she said, "At last, he's silent." She knew he wanted the whole story and she knew he deserved to hear it. "I was offered a job at the MET and in the process of that application, someone thought I'd make a good addition to a joint missing persons task force that was just getting its feet on the ground. It just happened to be in Johannesburg. And it happened to come two days before you dropped the bomb about your little brain problem."

"That's one way to refer to a terminal brain tumour," he said, finding his voice again.

Carol smiled. "Needless to say, there were more important things going on than my professional life."

"Not to me."

She was quiet for a moment before she said, "That was the problem, wasn't it? I thought about you, you thought about me. But we never thought about each other. Never thought about how it might be… together. Never thought there'd ever be a possibility we wouldn't be together. And when life showed me there was one, it scared me, Tony. It really did."

"Enough to leave?"

"Yes," she admitted, "enough to leave. I thought… if I just put distance between us, that I'd never have to deal with that fear again."

"Did you find it worked?"

"Yes. The fear is gone. Now I just have to deal with the emptiness." She attempted her smile again, but it trembled at the corners.

He reached across for her hand and was surprised when she took it and came round the table to sit beside him. With trepidation, he awkwardly put his arm around her shoulder. When he felt her arm go around his waist, and her head rest against his, there was such a comfort, such a familiarity, that he wondered what had taken him so long.

--

The clock ticked quietly in the corner, marking time and the soft rhythm of Carol's breathing. It was only when he felt the easy rise and fall of her chest against his side that Tony realized how time had fooled him. He discovered, to his surprise, that she had arrived in Bradfield, saw him at the station, spent the day with Alex, and now rested beside him, all in the span of a single day. No wonder she was fast asleep. He tried not to think of the future, tried to break himself of the need to analyze everything. With eyes closed and senses alive, he simply savoured the present.

--

She twitched slightly and woke up abruptly. With a quick glance around her, she remembered where she was, and looked to the man on her left. His head was back and his eyes were closed, but his breathing was shallow and she knew he was awake. Gently kneading the knot in her neck, she asked, "How long was I sleeping?"

Tony cracked open one eye and squinted at the clock. "Half hour?" When she groaned, he said, "I didn't know whether or not to wake you. You seemed like you needed the rest, though it couldn't have been the most comfortable position in the world."

She rested her forehead on his shoulder and hummed into his arm. "The kink in my neck is a small sacrifice to pay."

He smiled at her implication. "My shoulder is always available for you, Carol."

"Good to know," she playfully volleyed.

"You know…" he began, then faltered. Hoping his brain had chosen the right words in the proper order, he tried again. "You know, you could always stay here." When she said nothing, he quickly added, "I'd sleep on the couch, of course."

She chuckled and sat up. "My lack of response had nothing to do with where you'd sleep. As much as I'd like to stay, all my things are at the hotel, and I'm just too damn tired to go get them and come back tonight."

"Of course," he replied with a nod. Then his brain caught on to the last word she said. "How about… tomorrow?" He shook his head as a realization dawned on him. "I don't even know how long you're staying."

"Well despite what I told our suspect this afternoon, I've only been given leave to stay for a week."

"A week," he repeated, desperately trying not to measure the brevity of seven days.

She heard the edge of sadness in his voice. "Let's just take it as it comes, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Tomorrow. Why don't I check out of the hotel and bring my things by?"

Tony couldn't help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'd like that," he replied honestly.

"So would I," she said. Glancing at his clock, she sighed. "I should go."

He stood with her and watched her stretch before they walked to the door. As he helped her with her coat, she slipped into her shoes and admitted, "This is very odd."

He frowned. "What is?"

She gestured vaguely between them. "This. Us. My coming by with my things."

"There's nothing wrong with having second thoughts…"

"No, it's not that," she quickly interjected. "It's not that at all. It's just… suddenly our glacial movements have picked up the speed of a locomotive." She softened the words with a smile. "We certainly like to march to our own drummer, don't we?"

He smiled in return. "We certainly do."

She brought her right hand up to stroke the side of his face and, before self-doubt could creep in, she brushed her thumb across his lips. She looked at them for a long time, both fascinated by her boldness and by her hesitancy to look into his eyes. With her attention still drawn to his mouth, she asked, "Is this going to make things easier or more difficult?"

He heard the waver in her voice and saw the vulnerability in the woman he always associated with strength. Knowing honesty was what she deserved, he replied, "Yes."

She watched his lips utter the single word and she laughed. The humour in his honesty gave her the courage to look up. What she saw were the eyes of a man as conflicted as she was, and yet there was a hopefulness that warmed her. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It's what our drummer dictates, Carol."

They stood, unsure of what to do next. Surprising them both, it was Tony who stepped forward and left a lingering kiss on Carol's temple. With a hand around her waist, he held her against him, banishing any sense of chasteness. She curled her hand around his neck and kissed his cheek.

Whispering in his ear, she said, "He's a very sly drummer, isn't he?"

Tony leaned back and pressed his lips together in feigned seriousness. "He certainly is."

--


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Yep, I'm still writing! With the craziness of the holiday season behind me, I'm hoping to be able to get back at this with more regularity. My apologies for the delay!

--

"The 'banality of evil'. A phrase generally associated with Hannah Arendt who used it in her report of the trial of Adolph Eichmann, one of Hitler's most established officers, and the man responsible for organizing deportation to the extermination camps." The classroom was dark, but the images projected in the slideshow held the attention of all. Tony stood slightly to the side of the screen and clicked each frame into place with a small remote held in his right hand. "When he was finally captured in 1960," he continued, "people expected to see this horrible face of evil- this monster that had been instrumental in the death of millions of people. Discovering he was instead a rather mild-mannered, soft-spoken articulate man went against this perception." With each adjective, a new frame flashed on the white screen. "He represented, as Arendt succinctly noted, the banality of evil. She posed the theory that people who carry out unspeakable crimes may not be crazy, inhuman, or evil at all, but are simply regular individuals like you and me, who simply get caught up in the event either through reward or because it's routine. These people get caught in the cycle of the enterprise and if they do realize the depth of their actions, don't have the fortitude to step aside."

He let the words settle before moving along. "This was later put to the test by Stanley Milgram's 'Obedience to Authority' experiment that had subjects posing as teachers who administer shocks to another subject, posing as a 'learner' in the next room. Starting at 15 volts and increasing in 15 volt increments, the level of shock was determined by how well the learner answered questions. If they got it right, all was well. But if they got it wrong-" Tony loudly feigned an electrical shock and the class laughed. "However, the real test was on the one administering the shock. You see, the person in the other room wasn't being shocked at all- they were in on the test and were faking their responses. So the question was, how far would the 'teacher' go before disobeying the orders of the doctor, the authority in the room? Guesses? Out of the 40 test subjects, how many ended up pushing the button that would send, as far as they knew, the maximum- and potentially lethal- 450 volts? Simon?"

The young man in the back called out, "Five."

Tony shook his head. "Kathleen?"

"Ten?" she guessed.

"Anyone else?" Tony asked. A few shouts came back, but none were correct. "Twenty-six," he informed them. "Sixty five percent administered the maximum amount of punishment." There was a murmur of disbelief in the room and Tony offered another challenge. "Take into consideration that a human can receive a serious shock with 120 volts. How many of the 40 stopped before 300 volts?" As it was before, several guesses were yelled out. Tony simply held up his hand with his thumb and index finger forming an 'o'. "Zero."

"I would never do that," Simon stated.

"Wouldn't you?" Tony asked. "I suppose that's the point, isn't it? We all like to think we would rise above conformity, don't we?" The bell signalled the end of the class and Tony flicked on the light. "Read the chapter about Phillip Zimbardo's prison experiment by next class and write your own Obedience to Authority thesis. Tell me how it applies to something that you've seen in the news or witnessed in your own personal experiences." He pointed at Simon and said sternly, "And you'll do it- because I'm the authority figure."

The young student rolled his eyes and gathered his books. As everyone filed out, Tony turned off the projector and collected his things.

"Should I take that personally?" a voice wondered aloud.

Looking up, Tony saw Alex enter the room. Puzzled, he played back her words in his head. "Pardon?"

She pointed to his scrawling title on the board. "When Good People do Bad Things."

He turned his head to follow her gaze. "Ah," he replied. "No." He looked at her again. "Though I'm not sure I'd trust you to administer electric shocks."

Now it was her turn to be puzzled. "As much as I want to ask, I'm sure I don't really want to know."

He knew why she was there, knew her enough to know she wasn't inclined to let things fester between them. She was the kind of person who dealt with things no matter how easy or difficult; never one to hope things sorted them selves. He had already forgiven her, but was honest enough to admit her deception, well intended or not, still stung. And he wasn't too proud of his own actions in the stairwell, either. So rather than giving her an opening, he remained silent.

Of course, he was foolish to think she needed one. Cutting to the chase, she said, "I'm here to apologize for what happened. However good my intentions might have been, you deserved to know. And to be honest, I used those intentions as an excuse. I didn't know how to tell you, so I said nothing. That was unfair to you."

"Did Ben approve of your apology?"

Alex tilted her head and looked at Tony in confusion. It took her a brief second to figure out what he meant, and as it dawned on her, she burst out into laughter. "Okay, so maybe I practiced my speech once or twice," she conceded. "And it got Ben's seal of approval, right after he gave me a bollocking for 'being mean' to you."

"He's a good lad," Tony said.

Alex simply shook her head. "Are we okay?"

"No," he replied, much to her surprise. "I want to apologize for my behaviour in the stairwell." She made a motion to wave it away, but he held up his hand. "I was angry at you and I should have found a better way to express that rather than lash out at you the way I did."

She opened her mouth in feigned horror. "Tony Hill. Human after all? Alert the press!"

He scowled at her mockery. "Regardless, I'm sorry."

"Friends?" she offered, extending her hand.

Smiling at the formality, he returned the gesture. "Of course, Alex."

"Good," she replied, "because I've still got this case to solve."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't you mean we've still got this case to solve."

"Right." Uncertain of Tony's feelings on the matter of Carol Jordan, Alex chose to speak with a measure of vagueness. "We went to see Dangor Amadi again."

"Carol mentioned it, yes."

Alex's right eyebrow lifted and she barely covered the smirk. "Oh, really?"

Oblivious to her line of thinking, he added to the fire. "Yes, she came by last night."

"I see."

The light bulb switched on over his head. Flustered, Tony stammered, "Not like that."

A picture of innocence, she asked, "Not like what?"

"Not like whatever's going on in that over-active imagination of yours. She came over to apologize. As you've done today."

"But I'm not spending the night," she playfully countered.

For a moment, Tony wondered how Alex knew about Carol's plans for that evening, and he felt his body betray him as the blood rushed to his face. It was the sliver of logical thinking that told him Alex's comment was simply an assumption about the previous night. "She didn't stay the night."

Unfortunately for him, Alex misinterpreted his embarrassment as a contradiction to his words. "It's none of my business," she said, holding up her hands in surrender. "Don't worry, I was only joking about alerting the press."

"Oh, God," he groaned.

"Before you decide to crawl under your desk, let's get back to the case."

"Yes, let's."

"Do you have time to come back to the station?" she asked. "It'll save me from having to tell the story more than once, and we'll see if your Carol's come up with something."

He was about to refute her claim of Carol being his, but knew it would only lead to more sly innuendo and flushed cheeks, so he chose to ignore it. And while he would never admit it- to either woman- there was something in the phrase that pleased him. Aloud, he said, "Of course. I'm quite interested in seeing how the two of you interact." As he knew it would, any suggestion of him analyzing her got him a glare of disapproval and he smartly suppressed his smile.

--


	12. Chapter 12

The police room was surprisingly alive for 11 A.M, a contrast to the routinely subdued atmosphere that hung over the room until noon or the five cups of caffeine kicked in. It was when both Alex and Tony walked in that the cause of the activity was revealed. Sitting on the edge of Kevin's desk, Carol held court with a smart suit and a warm smile. Many of her former colleagues milled about, regaling her with tales of achievements and good-natured jokes. One of the latter was had at Kevin's expense, and Carol tossed her head back in laughter. The genuineness of the moment, this rare glimpse behind the professional mask of the woman Tony knew, tugged the corners of his mouth upward. As she patted Kevin on the shoulder and praised him for being a good sport, she noticed Tony's arrival and acknowledged it with a smile.

Sliding off her perch, she approached the duo and extended her hand to Alex. "DI Fielding, good to see you again." To the man on her left, she simply said, "Tony."

"Well that was rather anti-climatic," Paula whispered to Kevin.

"I told you they had kept in contact all this time," he said. "You owe me 10 quid."

"Carol," Tony replied. "As usual, you're the centre of attention."

"Please," she scoffed, "they're all looking for a place to stay during the World Cup."

Tony nodded as her quip fell into place in his mind. "That's right. We'll have to discuss that later."

"In the meantime," Alex gently coughed, "we should discuss what we have now."

"Right," Carol said. "Remind me to never find myself in a position where Ashley Vernon has to light a fire under my arse- he's got the bone mineral results in."

"Already?" Alex exclaimed in surprise.

"To be fair, they no doubt started the tests when the samples went in- he simply got them to get on with it," Carol surmised.

"Still, well done, Ashley," Tony praised the absent pathologist.

"All right, everyone," Alex turned to the room. "For those of you working on the Marden Woods murder, we've got further information on the body found." She stepped to the side, acquiescing control of the room to Carol.

"Thank you, DI Fielding. Just a quick bit of info for those of you who are wondering just what the hell I'm doing here," she began, much to the bemusement of her fellow officers. "Beyond not being able to stay away from you lot, Johannesburg police suspect this case ties directly into a human trafficking ring we've been trying to quash. The main suspect in the South African investigation- a Dangor Amadi- lives right here in Bradfield, and as it not-so-surprisingly turns out, is the number one suspect in your case. His father booked plane tickets for an adult and a child- a child who has subsequently gone missing. His name is Kayode Dikobe. He came into Bradfield with his uncle, a Nkosi Mutaba. The uncle returned to South Africa one day after arriving. We don't know what happened to Kayode Dikobe or where he might be. Dangor Amadi doesn't deny knowing either the boy or the uncle, but of course, he claims to have no knowledge of the boy's disappearance."

"What a surprise," one of the officers mumbled under his breath.

"If you get Dangor Amadi for this," Carol went on, "you'll also get the man I strongly feel is tied to a list of missing children." She waited for the weight of her words to sink in before continuing. "Our missing piece is a DNA link. We've traced Kayode's parents through his birth records, though as of this point, we haven't been able to find them."

Kevin raised his hand. "Are we certain the missing boy is our torso?"

"I was given the results from Ashley Vernon this morning from the bone mineral tests," Carol informed him. "Though they were never going to give us one hundred percent proof of the torso's identity, it does narrow the scope and the doubt." She gestured to the large computer screen that stood off to the side. "If I knew how to work that thing, I'd write it all down for you to see." The remark got the smiles it had intended. "In the meantime, here's what the results tell us- based on science that eludes me, trace minerals from food and water get absorbed into our bones and can be used to identify the region we're all from. The minerals found in the torso bones were nickel, chromium and copper. There is only one place in South Africa that would give all three minerals- the north east tip. For those not up on their geography, that's the Johannesburg region. Birth records list Kayode Dikobe's birth place as KwaGuqa, a small village less than 10 hours outside of Johannesburg."

As each officer considered the information and its implications, Paula asked, "So what's our next step, chief?"

Carol opened her mouth to speak, but it was Alex who had the first word. "I don't want to waste too much time exploring other avenues, considering how likely this seems to be. That being said, I don't like not covering every possibility, so we continue on as we've been doing. I'll move one or two over to help out those who are working on the Amadi angle, and the rest will carry one wherever other possibilities might take you. If all probable roads lead to Amadi, and we cannot get the DNA evidence we need, I want every bit of tangible evidence we can get before I make the arrest. Don't just tell me he did it; tell me why no one else could have possibly done it, because sure as hell that's what his solicitor will expect me to tell him. Superintendent Jordan has people following up on the South Africa end and we need to focus on what we can do here. Kevin, see if there are any CCTV cameras in the Marsden Wood area."

"That's a needle in a haystack," Kevin remarked.

"Or a camera in a forest," Paula quipped.

"I know the improbability," Alex conceded, "but it's not an impossibility. Trace back Amadi's vehicle registration. I wouldn't think he left the scene at a leisurely pace. Maybe someone saw him and phoned in a complaint. Better yet, he got stopped by one of the local bobbies. Paula, get a hold of his mobile records. See who he's been talking to and when. See if we can get permission to remove any personal or business computer he might have. If it doesn't point the finger directly at him, we might be able to go the long way round and track down the missing uncle."

"Look into this Nkosi Mutasa," Carol suggested. "There was something n the way Amadi referred to the relationship between the uncle and the boy in the past tense that hasn't been sitting right with me."

"You think Kayode wasn't the only one to have gone missing because of this Amadi character?" Paula asked.

Shrugging, Carol admitted, "I don't know. But I'm wondering if maybe our Mr. Amadi decided to tie up a few loose ends. I'm confident you'll find out for me, Paula." She shared a smile with the smaller woman.

"All right," Alex concluded. "You all know what you have to do. We're working in tandem with the Johannesburg police, so whatever information you come up with, I expect it to be passed along." She gestured towards Carol.

"I'll be sure to do the same," the tall blonde replied.

Finding all reactions to her liking, Alex softly clapped her hands together. "Get to it."

--

As the officers dispersed and Alex's attention was drawn to the other side of the room, Carol moved to Tony's side and whispered, "You were awfully quiet."

"You and Alex seemed to have everything covered."

She tilted her head and pursed her lips. A thought occurred to her and she smiled. "Are you afraid of speaking up in front of two strong-willed women?" He said nothing, but his body language spoke volumes, and her smile grew into laughter. "You are!"

"Well," he said feebly, "the two of you are intimidating. I'm surprised Dangor Amadi didn't confess immediately when you visited."

"Speaking of which, are you up for lunch? I'd like to give him a little reminder that I'm not letting up the pressure."

In the push/pull dance that they did, in the relationship that weaved the personal and professional together, it was moments like these that reminded him of why he loved her. Her ability to go from a playful softness to a professional stone was one he had tried to acquire over the course of their relationship, albeit in reverse. Striving for that balance helped him realize what it meant to not just pass for human, but to be one. It was what meant most to him. And what he missed most without her.

"I think I can find the time," he answered with a put-upon sigh. "But you're buying."

--


	13. Chapter 13

The broad, false smile of Dangor Amadi fell when he recognized the faces of the two patrons who had just entered the restaurant.

"What can I do for you now, Superintendent Jordan?" he asked with curt politeness.

"Good to see you again, Mr. Amadi," Carol returned with equal measure of false courtesy. "A table for two?"

The question caught him off-guard and he frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"A table for two," she repeated. "For me and Dr. Hill." She looked around the nearly vacant restaurant. "You are serving lunch, yeah?"

Amadi shook his head as if it put her words in order. "Of course," he answered, adopting an air of confidence. "Please, sit where you like. I'll have someone tend to your needs." When Carol and Tony followed his direction, he slipped behind a set of swinging doors behind the bar.

"If I get food poisoning," Tony whispered in Carol's ear as they found a table to her liking, "I'll know who to blame."

She smirked and slid into a chair. "You don't think it would be too obvious? A major suspect poisoning a police officer and an expert witness?"

Tony carefully straightened the cutlery, napkin and glass before steepling his fingers. "Carol, what goes on in some people's minds is beyond even my scope of understanding." She smiled at his dry delivery and he added, "Besides, as usual, I've overestimated my worth. I think I'm quite safe. You, on the other hand… well, I might have to switch plates with you."

"Would you do that, Tony?" she asked playfully. "Would you take the bullet for me, as it were?"

Without an ounce of doubt, he replied, "You know I would, Carol."

The moment lingered quietly between them before a young woman approached the table. "I'm Chenzira. Welcome. Would you like menus or will you allow me to make some recommendations?"

--

They decided on the latter, and after a short wait and a sly attempt by Tony to get Carol's plate, the two settled into their meals.

"This is delicious," Carol assured Chenzira who had waited by the table for a reaction. Tony concurred and, satisfied that they were pleased, the server politely departed. "It's not quite what I've had in Johannesburg," Carol said, "but still, quite good. Do you want to try some?" Before Tony could reply, she reached across and took his plate. Deftly moving a portion of his food to the side, she scooped two forkfuls of her own onto his plate and brought some of his lunch to hers.

"Ah, I see," he said. "This way neither of us will get food poisoning. Only sick tummies."

She shook her head in amusement. "Yes, that was my plan exactly. So," she said as he began to eat, "DI Alex Fielding."

His fork paused at his lips. "I congratulate you for waiting so long. I thought for certain you'd ask me on the way over," he remarked before continuing the fork's journey.

She shrugged as if it was neither here nor there. "Just making conversation."

"Of course," he replied, pretending to believe she had no interest at all in Alex. Before Carol could toss a barb at his poor acting skills, he queried, "What do you think of DI Alex Fielding?"

Carol took a mouthful of hot food and ruminated over the question. "Truthfully?"

"Of course," he repeated, only this time with full sincerity.

"Ambitious but not driven. Keen to solve the case but I didn't get a real sense of urgency from her. She handed things over to my jurisdiction without much of a fight."

"You weren't around when she first got the news."

"Ah, so her co-operation is for my benefit, is it?"

"No, not entirely," he said. "She wants this case as much as you do. But I think she's willing to give up some measure of control in order to reach a satisfying end."

"And partly because of you, no doubt."

His confusion was evident. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, she was obviously aware of our… history. I'm sure she was trying to find the best way to balance the jurisdiction issue that would benefit the case, but be easiest on you, too." When his confusion remained, she shook her head. "Tony, I know more than anyone how you have this way of becoming part of someone's life without either one realizing it. She cares about you." He opened his mouth to object and she held up her hand. "I don't mean that in any way other than it sounds. You're her friend and she knew this had the potential to hurt you. So on one hand, she's an officer with a duty to solve a case. But she also feels she had a duty as your friend to not create any more waves than necessary."

"So…," he said, attempting to change the subject, "ambitious, but not driven."

Carol couldn't help but laugh. "Well," she played along, "I did notice she was quick to jump in when Paula called me 'chief'."

"I noticed you were quick in your attempt to respond."

She replayed the moment from the office in her head. Realizing she had made a motion to answer her former colleague, Carol smiled and confessed, "Old habits die hard, I suppose." She took another forkful of food before asking, "So, what do you think of her?"

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Tony then sat back and pressed his lips together in thought. "Ambitious, but not driven." Getting the laughter from Carol that he had intended, he continued, "She wants to do well, to do very well. But I think she would feel that way regardless of the career she was in. You know yourself, Carol- it's a boys' club. So she has to try a bit harder in order to be seen just as competent. But I don't think she does it to prove herself as a police officer; I think she does it to prove herself as a woman. She's a single mother and of course that brings its own set of self-worth and self-confidence issues."

"I didn't know she had kids," Carol mused.

"Kid," Tony corrected. "A young boy by the name of Ben."

"Ah, so you've been invited round to the house?"

Though he didn't deny it, Tony countered, "I could very well have met him through some other avenue."

Laughing again, Carol said, "But you didn't. You went round to her house at some unusual hour of the day because you had a wild theory that you had no hesitation in running past Alex." Tony was gob smacked at the accuracy of Carol's hypothesis. "And now the boy, bereft of a father, has found some kind of male figure in the slightly quirky yet always fascinating Dr. Hill, who now gets invited over for tea."

Stammering slightly, Tony said, "I thought we were talking about Alex."

"We were," Carol agreed, though ignoring his flummoxed state. "But talking about her will naturally lead to talking about you. Did I mention the bit about your habit of finding your way into one's life?" He flatly hummed his acknowledgement. Peering over the rim of her glass, she asked nonchalantly, "So, beyond her unwillingness to throw herself at the altar of her career like the rest of us, what's she like?"

Tony's eyes narrowed as he ruminated not over the question, but the purpose behind it. His mouth opened to let out a small, "Ah," as it hit him. "You want to know if she's anything like you." Carol attempted to refute his claim, but he shook his finger at her and nodded, "That's what this is all about- you want to know if your replacement really is your replacement."

"Well, technically she's not a replacement. I was DCI when I left," Carol weakly argued.

He smiled so broadly that it creased the corners of his blue eyes. Rubbing his hands gleefully, he took out a pen from his breast pocket and pretended to look around for something to write on. "I wish I had brought a notepad."

"You'll wish you'd brought along an ice pack and paracetamol if you continue this little pantomime of yours," Carol warned.

Though the hard edge of her hazel eyes was betrayed by the twitch of the corner of her mouth, Tony thought it best to err on the side of caution. "Shall I get the bill?"

"Yes, you shall," she winked. As they both stood, she said, "I'll drop you off at the university on the way back."

Tony tilted his head. "How did you know I've got to go back to the university?"

Shrugging, Carol replied, "You came in with Alex. If history is any indication, that means you got a ride. Besides, you've got a session this afternoon." Before he could ask her yet again how she had such knowledge, she confessed, "I phoned the university at the beginning of term to see what you were up to."

If he felt a sense of sadness at the fact that she had inquired about him, but didn't attempt to speak with him, he didn't show it. "You just wanted to find out if they had given me the sack yet!"

--


	14. Chapter 14

Tony opened the door, not surprisingly, with his nose in a book. Though he stood in the entranceway, door swung wide, he made no motion to lift his head. His attention was finally diverted by a soft cough. Jerking his head back in alarm, as if not knowing how he got to be where he was, he blinked several times and said, "Carol."

She looked around, pretending to see if there was anyone else. "Yep, it's me. You know," she cautioned him, "you need to pay more attention when you answer your door. I could have been a deranged lunatic." Then she remembered their first case together. "Shit. You're the only person I could make that joke to and have it be true. "Sorry."

He waved away the apology. "Obviously, I need the reminder." Stepping aside, he let her in and locked the door behind him.

"At least you do that," Carol said, noting the precaution.

He gestured her into the living room and asked, "Any word on the case?"

"No," she answered. "With the time difference, I didn't expect much from Johannesburg. First thing in the morning though, if there's anything." She held up a medium-sized black bag. "Should I put this somewhere?"

Though the implications carried in a single piece of luggage seemed enormous, they also seemed startlingly simple. And yet Tony's first inclination was to defuse any potential emotional ripple with humour.

"I can't seem to pack a toothbrush and a razor in anything smaller than a bag made for a family of four and a monkey."

She recognized his awkward hesitancy, if only because she felt it, too. "I could leave it here for now, just in case there's a change of plans or… whatever."

"No," he said immediately, surprising them both. In the dry manner that was his nature, Tony added, "I've already gone through the trouble of weeding through my out-of-date wardrobe to make room. What else will I use all that space for now?"

When it came to their relationship, Carol wasn't above using humour as a way of avoidance, either. "You weeded out your wardrobe? Whatever will you wear now?"

He frowned at her joke. "Some of those items are now referred to as 'retro', thank you very much."

"'Retro'. The polite way of saying 'old'," she clarified.

"I started to make tea before you arrived," he told her, changing the subject. "The kitchen is behind you, to your left. I'll put your things in the bedroom." He tried to make it sound as natural as possible, but stumbled slightly over the last word.

If she caught it, Carol made no notice of it.

--

He stood at the foot of the bed for quite some time and stared at the slight indent Carol's bag made on the mattress. There was something odd about it all, he thought. Nearly a decade of emotional dancing had suddenly, without warning, come to this- her bag on his bed, the first sign of something more than lingering gazes and stolen caresses. Before the night was over, her bag would be replaced by her long limbs and soft curves. Tony could feel his chest tighten and he forced himself to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth several times. He looked around the room and fidgeted needlessly with a silver frame on his nightstand before chastising himself. "Get a grip, Tony," he said aloud.

--

It was a considerably more modest image of her long limbs and soft curves that stopped him in the doorway of his kitchen, but stopped him nonetheless. With her back to him, she leaned against the countertop, her right hand gently curled around the edge and her left hand casually laid flat on the hard surface. Her left foot absently rubbed the back of her calf and she hummed something Tony couldn't quite pick up. The image was immediately burned into his memory.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, breaking the silence but not turning.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. Assured that his heart was still beating, he inquired, "How did you know I was here?"

She turned now and smirked. "Super powers. Comes with the warrant card. And I saw your reflection in the kettle." As if on cue, it whistled, and she took it off the stove. "You're out of milk." The spoon clinked against the cups as she stirred in the sugar for both. He came to stand beside her and took the mug that was silently offered. Leaning back against the counter, she cautiously blew into the hot liquid before stating, "I did some thinking while you were in the bedroom."

Feeling his heart sink, Tony replied, "Oh?"

"We're stumbling over this- " she gestured vaguely between them, "because we're not coming at it from the proper perspective."

At risk of sounding redundant, Tony repeated, "Oh?"

"Yes. We're wondering what the normal thing to do is, when quite frankly, we're not normal. Don't laugh," she told him when she saw his eyes light up with amusement. "Tony, nothing about anything that has happened between us since the first day we met has been normal. We bonded over a serial killer, for God's sake." He nodded at the memory. "You've nearly died- twice!- since I've known you. And now, here we are, in what any 'normal' person would call considerably… odd."

"It's who we are, Carol."

She pointed at him. "That's it exactly- it's who we are. So why are we trying to be something else?"

He pondered her line of thinking for a moment. "So what you're saying is… we should embrace our abnormality?"

"Well, 'embrace' might be asking a bit much. And it's not abnormal. As you said, Tony, it's just who we are."

"And what's your suggested treatment, Dr. Jordan?"

She narrowed her eyes at his jibe, but answered. "Let's just… let things be, yeah? What happens happens, but not because we're trying to steer them in any particular direction based on some sort of normalcy scale."

Her assessment of their situation, their feelings of awkwardness and uncertainty was spot on and gave him pause. At last, he said, "You came up with all of that while I was in the bedroom?"

She laughed broadly and tried not to spill her tea. "I can't drink this without milk. You never did say if you had eaten. How about a good take-away?"

--

With a multitude of small containers opened across the coffee table, Carol and Tony picked through each spicy offering before sitting back on the couch.

"Do you remember the first time we had take-away here?" Carol asked. "Well, not here, I suppose. In your first flat."

"Of course," he replied.

"You told me that sex with you wasn't worth a three hour drive; maybe a five-minute walk. If it wasn't raining."

Considering where the evening was seemingly inevitably heading, Tony blushed furiously and groaned. "Things change in a decade, Carol. At least, I hope so. For both our sakes." She laughed and he quietly remarked, "You should laugh more. It suits you."

"I laugh a lot," she protested. "The problem is, half the time you see me, it's over a dead body. Not particularly fertile grounds for humour."

"No, I suppose not."

"Do you remember what else we spoke about that night?"

He nodded. "The possibilities of evil. Though that was your word, not mine."

Conceding the point, she continued, "Do you believe in it? Evil, I mean."

"You might think so, after everything we've seen, wouldn't you?" he replied. "But no, I don't believe in the concept of evil. I'm not sure I even believe in the concept of good."

"Really?"

"They're terms society created to label people who follow the rules and who horribly don't. I told you then that the term 'evil' is relative and I still believe that. No one is born evil, just as no one is born good. Who we become and who we are is much more complicated than two simple labels. We're not just evil nor are we just good. We're just human."

"'Nature does not give a man virtue, the process of becoming a good man is an art,'" Carol quoted, much to Tony's surprise.

"Exactly. Do you believe that?"

"Absolutely not," she said, though tempered her conviction with a smile. "As a police officer, I don't think I have that luxury, Tony. I'm the good guy and I chase the bad guys. Black and white. I don't know how I'd do my job any other way." When he nodded but said nothing further, she asked, "Do you ever have any trouble sleeping?"

"All the time," he confessed.

"Me, too," she nodded, looking off to the side. "I always see the victim, just out of my reach. I try to save them, but I can't get close enough."

Absently shaking his head, he said, "I see the victim, too. But I'm not trying to save them."

The implication of his words slowly dawned on Carol, but instead of recoiling in horror as Tony had feared- as he had always experienced with other people- she put down her plate and set his on the table. Taking his hand in hers, she draped it around her shoulders as she curled into him. Tilting her chin towards the television, she said, "Show me how to play your little Lara Croft game."

--


	15. Chapter 15

Due to Carol's inability to master manual dexterity and Tony's inablility to not shout directions, Carol's foray into gaming was short-lived and instead, they settled for the dulcet entertainment of BBC News. As the well-groomed news anchor bid them good-night, Tony yawned.

Chuckling, Carol said, "Perfect timing."

"I applaud whomever decided to put her in this particular timeslot," Tony said of the woman behind the BBC desk. "There's something about her that always makes me drowsy."

"She does have a peculiar drone, doesn't she?"

Tony nodded his agreement, and they sat quietly in the glow of the television. They remained like this for several minutes, neither certain how to move forward. It was Tony who finally broke the silence.

"You know, it's not as if I haven't been with a woman," he said. Oblivious to Carol's gape at his candor, he went on, "Mind you, I'm no Lothario, but it's not as if it's something new."

"It's new for us though, isn't it?" she noted, deftly summing up the situation.

Again, he nodded his agreement, and again, silence settled between them.

"I was 14 when I first kissed a boy," Carol offered at last. "Liam Phelps. Gorgeous curly blonde hair. Eyes to die for." She turned her head and smiled at Tony's rapt attention. "We were in my parents' living room. They had the good grace to go down to the pub for a few hours."

"That's when Mr. Phelps made his move."

Carol laughed. "Not quite. It practically took him the entire evening. We started on the couch, except he was on one end and I was on the other. Through various excuses, we inched closer and closer until we were much like this," she said, gesturing to their current closeness. "That's when Mr. Phelps made his move... except in his attempt to nonchalantly put his arm around me, his elbow hit me in the forehead."

"Oh, dear. And you still kissed him?"

"Well, it would be closer to the truth to say that he made the most of the distraction."

"Ah, I see." He waited for more, and when nothing seemed forthcoming, he asked, "Was it everything you thought it would be?"

Shrugging, Carol replied, "I suppose at 14, it was."

"The expectations of youth," Tony smiled, then remarked, "We've been sitting on the couch for over seven years, metaphorically speaking."

At first puzzled, she caught on to his meaning. "Is this when Mr. Hill makes his move?"

Seven years ago, he might have blanched at the prospect, and though he could still feel the burning blush of embarrassment stain his cheeks, he knew Carol had been right about the pressures they had put on themselves. It was all quite simple, really- they were the ones who made it difficult.

With a deep, calming breath, he looked at Carol. "Yes."

Standing up, he took her hand and clicked off the television. Now blanketed by darkness, he drew confidence from Carol's soft chuckle. "If that doesn't epitomize our relationship, I don't know what does- fumbling in the dark."

Though she couldn't see it, he was smiling, too. "Despite current evidence to the contrary, Carol, there is a light at the end of the tunnel."

--

They stood facing each other at the foot of the bed, clothes changed, faces washed, teeth cleaned, every stall tactic exhausted.

Carol was the first to speak. "I feel like I'm 14 again." Her words were tempered by a small smile, and before she could say anything more, Tony bridged the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers.

Neither one made a move to escalate the kiss, not because of uncertainty but because of an unspoken desire to savour the moment. They had kissed before, of course, but this was the first time it had a future behind it. There was no going back from this moment and somewhere along the line, they decided to face the possibilities with their eyes wide open. Or in this case, with eyes closed, breathing shallow, nerve endings alive with anticipation. When Tony slipped his hand under Carol's thin night shirt and brushed his fingertips across the small of her back, Carol broke the kiss to sigh at the sensation. The pressure of his touch encouraged her forward and when she pressed her body against his, it was Tony's turn to sigh. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed him hard, as if realizing for the first time that this was indeed happening; that they weren't just given this chance but were grabbing it by the reins. They tumbled onto the bed and the room filled with her laughter.

He propped up on one elbow and looked down at her. Closing his eyes, he waited for his fears and frailties to make themselves known; waited for the nightmarish images that always haunted him to manifest themselves. On the rare occasion he had sought the comfort of another human being, his subconscious always made certain to let him know why it could never last. But as he opened his eyes again, he saw none of those images, none of those horrors. He saw nothing but Carol looking up at him, and he knew then he'd worry no longer.

--

A/N: My beta reader and I discussed the fact that this is one of the few times Tony and Carol aren't quite Tony and Carol... in that there was something missing; that it was a bit generic. I think we came to the conclusion that, well, that's the point, isn't it? That these two characters, when finally deciding to face this crossroad, realize (as Carol said) that they've been worrying about nothing. That for all the history they have, sex is pretty much the same for everyone. :) The act itself and even the lead-up to it (in the scene) is fairly common. It's the things around it that separate their relationship from others, from the "normal". And now, what they do after will probably not be quite the same as most people, because they're still Tony and Carol, they still have all that extracurricular baggage. This is why Val McDermid's comment of, "The idea of Carol and Tony sitting down to a croissant, having spent the night under the same sheets, talking about serial killers, would feel wrong. I can't make that work in my head." surprises me, because I would think that getting over that particular hurdle (having sex) wouldn't automatically make all obstacles go away. In fact, I would think it would perhaps open up one or two creative avenues for a good writer to explore.

It _is_ difficult to get one's head around, but it's also quite interesting to attempt! We'll see what happens as the story continues. :)


	16. Chapter 16

A long slender arm stretched out from under the blankets and searched blindly for the ringing phone. Fumbling slightly over the receiver, the feminine hand made contact and pulled it towards the bed.

"Hello?" Carol mumbled. She received a response but it didn't quite cut through the haze of sleep. Propping herself on one elbow, Carol said, "Sorry?" This time, the words made sense and she rolled over and nudged the phone into Tony's shoulder. "It's for you."

He grumbled his reply and took the offending item from her hand. "Tony Hill."

"I suppose I could have simply given Carol the news," Alex cheerfully said by way of greeting.

He ignored her jab and noted, "You're up early. Good news?"

"Kevin's up early," she corrected him. "Ambitious bastard's been at the office since seven."

Tony pried open one eye to glance at the clock on the dresser. The red LED lights formed a line of numbers that read 7:50. Gingerly, and to Carol's mild protestation, he flipped back the covers and shuffled the four steps to the clock and flicked off the alarm, ten minutes early. Upright, the blood flowed to the brain and jump-started his thought process. "Johannesburg called?"

"No," she replied, "it was Germany."

"Germany?"

"We've got the uncle, Tony," Fielding said with pride. "Nkosi Mutasa attempted to get into Germany last night. The passport was a fake, but his picture was flagged in the database. An attentive customs official recognized him."

"God bless the customs agent," Tony replied.

"Indeed. Berlin police are arranging to have him shipped over for questioning by the end of the day."

The name of the German city froze Tony and he looked over to the woman in his bed. Her position, on her back, with her left arm casually resting above her head, added to the illusion of length her body created under the thin covers. The blanket was drawn up only high enough to cover the curve of her breasts and this small glimpse of her soft skin made him ache. He had looked into her trusting eyes the night before and knew things would never be quite the same. But it was Alex's mention of Berlin that reminded him the past could never be changed.

The inquisitive voice of the only other woman he ever trusted came through the receiver. "You still there, Tony?"

He nodded, then realizing she couldn't see it, said aloud, "Yes. Thanks, Alex. I'll tell Carol." Alex chuckled and Tony gave her the moment of amusement before hanging up the phone.

--

He was silent for several minutes and it was Carol who ended up speaking first. Propping her head up with her forearm, she lazily opened her eyes and asked, "What are you going to tell me?"

He shook his head as if awoken from a dream. "Sorry? Oh, right. That was Alex."

"I suspected as much. Unless you have a collection of women calling you at the crack of dawn."

"Technically, the crack of dawn is before six," Tony corrected her. When she stared at him impassively, he decided to answer her first question. "Nkosi Mutasa was caught trying to get into Germany last night," he relayed. "Though the passport was fake, someone in Customs caught the photo."

"Well done, Germany," Carol praised. "Have they made arrangements to have him brought over?"

Tony walked to the bed and sat on the edge, facing Carol. "Yes."

Sitting up, she let the blanket fall unabashedly as she leaned forward to kiss his shoulder. "Good. I'm going to have Dangor Amadi in this afternoon. See what he thinks of this new development." He reached up and ran his fingers through her blonde hair. She turned into his touch and smiled into his ear. "I suppose means we've blown our cover with DI Fielding."

Kissing her temple, he said, "It only confirms what she suspected a day early."

Carol pulled back in surprise. "What?"

Tony's expression was one of pure innocence. "When she visited me at the university yesterday, she was quite certain you had already spent the night. An assumption I corrected," he quickly added when he saw Carol's narrowing eyes.

He needn't have worried. With a smile, she said, "Remind me to commend her on her detecting skills." Gently nudging him off the bed, she ordered, "Go. You've got that little bakery down the road. I could murder for a hot croissant and a coffee."

Perplexed, Tony stood and looked down at her. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you're a man," she answered as if it was obvious. "It will take you half as long to get ready. And you're Tony Hill; it will take you half of that."

He frowned. "Is this more commentary on my fashion sense?"

"Go on," she repeated, and dismissed him with a playful wave of her hand.

--


	17. Chapter 17

--

When he returned, he was surprised to find her already dressed and sitting comfortably at his kitchen table, the morning paper spread out before her. Her blonde hair, still damp from the shower, was curled behind her ears, giving her a more open and vulnerable look than what she projected to the world. Her clothing contradicted the image, however, clad in what Tony could only assume was called the "power suit". Though her legs were bent under the chair and her stocking feet crossed at the ankles, the cut of the dark cloth made her look long and angular. The edges were diffused by the white blouse beneath the jacket, the soft silk open low enough to be inviting, high enough to mean business.

Without looking up, she remarked, "The coffee's going to get cold."

"Sorry," he replied and stepped forward. "I was just thinking that I should let you take me shopping one day." He handed her the hot beverage and reached into the brown bakery bag.

"Shopping?" she repeated as she took the warm croissant from him. "Mmm, this is lovely, thank you." She took a bite and wiped the crumbs out of the corner of her mouth. "You mean clothes shopping?"

Sitting across from her, he removed the lid from his own coffee and savoured the aroma. "Well, you're the one always going on about my lack of fashion."

"Mmm," she agreed, and took another bite. After a few moments of silence, she ventured ahead with some hesitation. "So. You and me… last night…"

"Ah, the awkward morning after."

"Is it awkward?" she asked. "I suppose what I mean to ask is, are we all right?"

He sat back as if pondering the question. "I would guess I'm slightly below all right, but you're bloody fantastic."

At first, she frowned at his slightly puzzling response. It was when the suggestiveness of his reply came through that she laughed. Gently kicking him under the table, she said, "Really! That's certainly one way to answer my question." She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers before taking her coffee. "And I'd like to say, on the record, you're worth much more than a five minute walk, even if it is raining."

Her resurrection of a self-deprecating comment he had made years ago made his face flush and she laughed again. Trying to ignore the heat on his cheeks, he asked, "So what's on the agenda today?"

"Once I know for certain when Nkosi Mutasa is arriving, I'll have Dangor Amadi brought in for another round of questions."

"You think you can get the uncle to turn?"

Carol shrugged. "I don't know. When it comes right down to it, we don't have much beyond the circumstantial and the speculative. We have the two plane tickets booked by Amadi's father, but no proof that Kayode Dikobe ever came in contact with Dangor Amadi. No witnesses, no material evidence. No proof either of those men killed Kayode. No proof the torso found is even Kayode."

"DNA evidence from the uncle should help."

"Which could take anywhere up to six months to get back. In the meantime, these men continue doing what they're doing. How many children will get sold and abused until then?"

It was Tony who now reached across the table for her hand. "A wise woman once told me, 'You can't save everyone'."

A soft smile graced her lips as she recognized the source of his quote. "Advice doesn't work when you try and give it back to the person who gave it to you in the first place."

"Oh, I see," he nodded sagely. "Whatever happened to 'practice what you preach'?"

"It was trumped by 'do as I say, not as I do'," she informed him.

"Ah."

"And what's on your agenda today," she asked him, changing the subject. "I know you have a class first thing. Then what?"

"Then I thought I'd take you to lunch, then assist in the interview. That is, of course, if you want me to."

"That sounds lovely," she replied. "Both those things." Lacing her fingers between his, she wryly added, "Perhaps we'll even find time to buy you a new suit."

--

She dropped him off at the university, with the instruction to pick him up at 11:45. As she drove away, Tony lingered on the steps and watched her leave before he finally entered the halls of academia.

The morning slowly unwound as it always did, and it was this very bit of normalcy that intrigued Tony. He hadn't expected to step out of his flat and see that the sky had suddenly turned magenta simply because he and Carol had finally slept together, of course. But he had to admit, he had always wondered how different things would be if they had ever taken that step- if their relationship would forever be changed, wouldn't it be fair to presume things around them would change as well? And yet, beyond a few curious looks in response to his newfound ability to smile more at people, life seemed to have survived the cataclysmic event and continued on its merry, mundane way. He wondered if there was a way he could ask Carol if she had felt the same without sounding odder than usual.

--

If Alex Fielding had any opinion when it came to her discovery of Carol and Tony's relationship, she kept it to herself. She greeted Carol without a clue in her manner or expression, something Carol dutifully noted.

"You brought coffee," Alex said with a grateful sigh. "They'll never let you leave now."

"They seem to be getting on fine without me," Carol warmly replied to her replacement.

Alex tilted her head in thanks to the compliment. As she led Carol into the conference area, she asked, "Do you have a plan for things when Nkosi Mutasa arrives?"

Placing the tray of disposable coffee cups on a nearby table, Carol perched on the edge. "I'd like to bring Dangor Amadi in for a formal interview. Let's try to time it in such a way that they see each other. Not close enough to speak; just enough to know we're talking to both."

Alex nodded as the idea unfolded. "Right. Trick one into thinking perhaps the other turned."

"Exactly. Because quite frankly, we don't have much else."

"I agree. We did get a warrant to search Amadi's computer as well as his father's. The computer brains in the basement are hoping to find something that will link Amadi to the trafficking angle you're following. They're working in tandem with your boys in Johannesburg."

"Good," Carol replied. "I'd like to nail the bastard for both the trafficking and the murder, but if we don't find anything, or convince Nkosi Mutasa it's in his best interest to talk, we might not get Amadi for either. I will not be bloody well happy if that happens."

Alex murmured in agreement. "Berlin said they won't have the uncle here until mid-afternoon. Let's give poor Kevin his coffee and go over what we have."

--

Given the dearth of evidence they had, it didn't take them long. They took more time going over the possibilities, hoping something would come up to turn them into certainties. Unfortunately, it ended up as it had earlier that morning with Tony and Carol- there was nothing but the plane ticket and the potential DNA match. But nothing that would disprove any 'he said/he said' story the two men would undoubtedly conjure up.

"I brought Kayode to Bradfield and left him with Dangor," Carol play-acted. "The boy was alive when I left."

"I only bought the tickets," Alex countered. "I've never seen the boy."

"And we have nothing that says either one is lying," Kevin lamented.

Paula snorted. "Nothing but common sense."

"Which never seems to have much place in the justice system," Carol sighed. She looked at her two former colleagues and her current replacement. "We'll do what we can," she stated firmly.

"Is Tony coming in for the interview?" Paula asked.

Carol searched the younger woman's face for any indication that the office gossip mill was up and running, but found nothing. Another point for DI Fielding. "I invited him to take part, yes."

Kevin approved of the plan with a nod of his head. "If we can't use evidence to get this bastard, we can use Tony Hill."

--


	18. Chapter 18

Berlin police called shortly after 11 to inform Alex of their departure and their scheduled arrival in Bradfield. Once landed, they would bring Nkosi Mutasa in and transfer the suspect at the station. Armed with this information, Carol and Alex formulated a schedule that would allow for the "chance" meeting between the two men. A call to Dangor Amadi was met with more than slight irritation from the man, but he agreed to come in at the requested time. He assured Alex he'd be bringing a solicitor, to which she cheerfully agreed was his right.

"Pleased as punch, is he?" Carol asked, overhearing one side of the conversation and filling in the rest.

With more than a bit of distain dripping from her voice, Alex said, "Arrogant bastard."

"Let him have his moment," Carol replied. "If we're lucky, before the day is over, we'll have ours." She turned the watch on her slender wrist. "I've got to pick up Tony. If for whatever reason, Germany arrives early, you'll call me, yeah?"

"Of course."

"Right then. I'm going to pay a little visit to the computer boys downstairs and make sure they're not playing World of Witchcraft or whatever it is they do. I'll be back shortly."

--

Tony was collecting his notes in the empty class room when Carol entered.

"With great power comes great responsibility," she read from the chalkboard. She pursed her lips in amusement. "I wouldn't have taken you for a Spiderman fan."

He looked up and continued piling the papers as she came down the steps. "Nor I you."

"Michael was a voracious nerd," she said of her younger brother.

"Spoken like an older sister."

She smiled. "I'm just jealous he went from comics to computers and is now making three times the pay I do." Sitting on the edge of his desk, she gestured over her shoulder to the board. "What's all this about, then?"

"It's the continuation of an ongoing theme- 'When Good People do Bad Things'," he informed her.

"Oh, very nice." He rebuked her with narrow eyes, but she would have none of it. "And how does it pertain to the Spiderman reference?"

He began putting on his jacket. "It's a gentle warning to those who are thinking of entering the clinical path of psychology. A patient/psychologist setting is ripe for planting 'repressed' memories, whether intentional or not."

"Lost in the Mall," Carol noted.

With one arm in his coat, he froze. "Sorry?"

"Lost in the Mall," she repeated. "Someone whose name escapes me at the moment did a test on the ability to plant false memories. She planted a story about being lost in the mall into the minds of her student volunteers. I think a quarter of them believed it, even though it never happened."

Amazement obvious in his voice, Tony replied, "That's right. Elizabeth Loftus."

She laughed and picked up his blue bag. "Don't sound so surprised. It was a lesson we were taught at the academy. Great power does come with great responsibility, and perhaps none have greater power to persuade than the police."

Tony nodded, wondering why it had never occurred to him. Carol was right- if anyone was at risk of making a person admit to something that might ultimately not be true at all, it would be a police officer. The confines of an oppressive interview room could make a cop, desperate for a lead, entice a statement out of a suspect desperate to make it stop.

"I tread that line very carefully," she said.

"Do you think you've ever crossed it?"

"I'd like to hope not. You?"

"I'd like to hope not," he echoed, but admitted, "I do wonder sometimes."

"Well, the fact that you have the wherewithal to wonder is a fairly good indication you're doing fine. Rather like the idea that if you have the self-awareness to think you're crazy, you're not."

He narrowed his eyes at her again. "Thank you, Doctor Jordan. Did Germany call?"

She smiled at his shift in subjects. "Yes. They don't expect to be here until after one. We've got time for lunch and to go over a few things."

--

After they had settled comfortably into the seats of a nearby café and had given the waiter their order, Tony leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. "Did you want to talk out the interview this afternoon?"

"Yes," she answered, "but I want to discuss something else first." He blinked as he waited for her to continue. "We need to talk about us, Tony." His reply was two more blinks, and she rested her forehead on her fingertips and sighed before trying again. "Tony, I leave in three days, with or without Dangor Amadi. We ignored the elephant in the room for almost a decade- let's not do it again."

Stalling for time, he looked out the window and watched people meander by. He wondered if their lives were as complicated as his. He glanced back across the table at the woman who was waiting expectantly for his response, and he decided to amend his self-pitying assessment of his life. Faced with two choices, it was very simple.

"I agree," he said, to her slight surprise. "So where do we go from here?"

"I suppose it depends on where we want it to go."

He sighed and looked out the window again. "Carol, I've grown so accustomed to my own inability to deal with… this, that quite frankly, I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, you're not alone, if that's any consolation," she replied.

He returned his attention to her. "Where do you want it to go?"

Now it was her turn to look out onto the street. "I thought I wanted the usual- marriage, 2.5 kids, a nice house, a cat. But if that's what I really wanted, I would have done something about us sooner. We would have had this conversation years ago. But I didn't and we didn't."

"The past has passed."

"Yes," she concurred. "Which is why now is so important, Tony. Whatever the decision, whatever the outcome, I need to face a future with certainties."

"I can't see myself moving to South Africa, Carol."

Facing him, she agreed. "No, neither can I." There was enough humour in her voice to relieve the tension ever so slightly.

"Would you consider moving back to Bradfield?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Could we meet somewhere in the middle instead?"

Tilting his head, he queried, "Wouldn't that put us somewhere in Cameroon?"

She laughed and whatever tension remained was gone. "No, I mean London or Manchester or Newcastle. I'm not sure there's anything left for me in Bradfield." Seeing one very important reason staring back at her, she added, "Professionally speaking. I come back to Bradfield and then what? DI Fielding seems to be more than adequate in my old job."

"I could sabotage her if you like," he offered.

"Thank you. But I should probably decline." He hummed his concession. "And yet, is it fair to ask you to leave your job? Your students?"

"My legion of friends."

His tone was a self-deprecating one, but she picked up on the comment. "Alex's son would miss you dearly."

"Carol…"

She gazed wistfully out the window. "I do love Bradfield." Breathing deeply and contently, the ghost of a smile sketched the corners of her mouth. "I've heard the Home Office has finally decided to get the National Crime Profiling Task Force off the ground."

"Must have been the weight of the title keeping it down," Tony drolly hypothesized.

"Cheek. John Brandon's retired, but I bet I could get him to put in a good word for me."

It seemed to Tony that they had faced a crossroads at that moment, and Carol had chosen a path. But it was something he needed to hear. "So… you'll come back?"

She sat back and sighed, as if she couldn't believe what she had just agreed to. Shaking her head good naturedly, she answered, "I suppose so. But let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"No."

"There's still a lot to work out."

"Yes."

"You'll have to learn to live with Nelson."

He stopped the banter with a feigned look of disappointment. "Oh."

--


	19. Chapter 19

Considering how long it took them to get to this point in their lives, there was a certain amount of humour in the fact that they had time to discuss their relationship, eat lunch and run an errand all in the span of two hours. It was something that didn't go unnoticed by Carol.

"Ten years dealt with in ten minutes," she quipped as she slid the bill from under Tony's hand. "Think it will always be this easy?"

He rolled his eyes at the question. Rather than answering, he gestured to the piece of paper in her hand. "I believe it's my turn to buy."

Carol looked off to the side, as if pulling up a ledger from her memory. "Is it? Well, let's start fresh, yeah?"

Though he was sure she was only referring to their mutual tab, Tony decided it was a good way to look at their future, as well.

--

What he didn't take into account was the possibility that it might also apply to his wardrobe.

"Stop looking at yourself in the windows," Carol chastised him as they walked down the hallway of the police station. "You look fine. Better than fine, actually."

Unwittingly disobeying her order, Tony glanced at his reflection and straightened his tie. Considering the two weeks' wages it cost me, I should look closer to dashing."

She bumped his shoulder with hers and leaned into him. Whispering conspiratorially, she asked him, "If I say you look dashing, will it go to your head?" Seeing his flush, she said, "I thought not. Right to your cheeks."

"Is this what I should come to expect?"

"You must mean the new suit, considering I've been teasing you since the day we met."

"Yes," he replied, agreeing with her recollection. "And yet, here I am. Why is that, I wonder?"

"I'm sure there's some multi-consonant word ending with '-itis" in your text books to explain it," she helpfully offered.

"Or perhaps it's simply because I love you."

Her stop was so abrupt that he was five steps ahead before he realized she was behind him. Turning, he tilted his head, a non-verbal, 'What?' She brought up her hands to her face, her own cheeks now pink with heat. It was a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Tony, whose eyes widened slightly in feigned innocence.

"You did that on purpose," she said, then realizing their surrounding, stepped forward and repeated her accusation in a lower tone.

It rolled off his back and he shrugged. "I've never been one to say the right thing at the right time."

"Mmm, I'll give you that," she admitted, thinking of all the times he had blurted out one inappropriate thing or another, oblivious to the expected etiquette. "And yet, you still have the ability to catch me by surprise."

He found nothing negative in her voice; quite the contrary. It was spoken with an appreciation he hadn't expected. Deflecting her comment as he was wont to do, he deadpanned, "Stick with me, Carol. I'm full of surprises."

--

The fact that he had been joking when he said it made Carol smile even broader when they walked into the police room and were spotted by Alex.

Making no effort to hide her surprise, she appraised Tony from head to foot and admired the cut of the black cloth that seemed to hang and hug in all the right places. "Is that a new suit?"

"Have you ever thought of going into police work?" Tony asked facetiously. "Your deductive skills are astounding."

He wasn't the only one able to brush aside a pointed remark. Turning to Carol, she said, "You and the new suit came just in time. Detective Bastien Hoch, he of the Berlin police informed us they had landed at Bradfield International and will be here in approximately 30 minutes."

"And Dangor Amadi?" Carol asked.

"Rang him as soon as I got off the phone with Detective Hoch, and reminded him of our meeting. He should be showing up round the same time as the uncle. I'll put Amadi in an interview room and he can sweat it out with his solicitor until we've wrapped up the Nkosi Mutasa questioning. I assume you'd want to talk to him first?"

Carol nodded. "He seems most likely to find an excuse to talk. I don't know what his involvement is with Amadi's trafficking, if any. His name's never come up in any of the reports I've seen. So he's only on the hook for the disappearance of Kayode Dikobe. If he points the finger at Amadi, he can claim ignorance in knowing anything that happened after handing Kayode over. However, we've already discussed the real problem."

"He said/he said," Alex replied.

"Yes. Short of Nkosi Mutasa presenting photos of him handing Kayode over to Amadi, I'm not expecting anything particularly useful, truth be told," Carol admitted. "But what I'm expecting- what I'm hoping- is that his appearance will plant the thought in Dangor Amadi's mind: has Mutasa grassed? Do we now have something to pin on him? I need that crack in his arrogant defenses. Then I can let the new suit do what he does best."

"This fascination with my wardrobe is quite unsettling," Tony remarked.

The two women smiled and Alex suggested, "Why don't I get us a coffee and we'll set up in interview room two?"

--

"They've completely re-done the station, haven't they?" Carol noted as she stepped into the large sterile interview room. It was easily twice as large as the ones she remembered, its expanse now long and narrow rather than square. They grey walls offered two windows, but only the one, at the far end of the room across from the door let in light. The other, on the wall to Carol's right, was obviously of the two-way mirror variety, allowing those on the other side to view the proceedings.

"It is a bit cavernous, isn't it?" came Tony's voice, slightly tinny through the room's speakers.

She looked at the mirror despite not being able to see him. "Yet somehow more claustrophobic than the smaller version. Very clever. Did you have a hand in the design?"

"No, but hiring a psychologist to create an interview room wouldn't be such a bad idea, Carol. I could supplement my income to pay for my new suits."

She smiled and sat down with her back to him. The choice of seating was intentional, but not chosen to avoid looking at him. With her back to the window, it forced the suspect to face it, allowing anyone looking to gauge the suspect's facial reactions and body language. With an officer's attention often focussed on the verbal reactions, it was helpful to have someone able to focus on the physical. In this case, it would be Tony's task. She put in the earpiece that connected her to the other room and found the switch under the edge of the table that would shut off the speakers so that only she could hear Tony's voice and direction.

"Now who has an unsettling fascination with your wardrobe?" she asked, knowing the room's microphones were still on.

It was silent for a moment, then Carol heard the click of the microphone in the viewing room being turned on. "The arrival of coffee will postpone this discussion for another date," Tony said.

Laughing, Carol purred, "Oh, I do love it when you get all clinical."

When the door opened to the interview room and Alex ventured with two steaming cups of coffee, Carol blushed at her words. She had forgotten that, while she may be the only one to hear his words, hers were broadcast into the next room through a small speaker. Fortunately, the greyness of the room covered the pinkness in her cheeks. Or Alex was simply too polite to comment.

Taking her place to Carol's right, Alex sat and placed a mug in front of Carol. "The interview room beside us is open. I've told Paula to put Amadi there when he arrives. When we wrap up this interview, she'll switch him to here."

"Timing it in such a way that the two men see each other."

"Exactly."

"Regardless of what Nkosi Mutasa tells us, let's make a good show of it when he gets escorted out."

"Right," Alex agreed. "What exactly happens to him after this?"

"Depends on what he tells us, I suppose," Carol answered. "But short of him blurting out an admission that he knew exactly what Amadi was going to do with Kayode, we have nothing to hold him here. Someone will want to hold him on the fake passport charge; whether that's Germany or South Africa, I don't know."

"A slap on the wrist, a small fine and a one-way ticket back home," Alex surmised sadly. "Doesn't seem like a fair exchange, given what we know, does it?"

"It rarely does."

"Guv, Dangor Amadi's here," Paula's voice came through the small ear bud. "Kevin's bringing him to interview room three."

"Thanks Paula," Carol replied. To Alex, she relayed the information.

Fielding glanced at her watch. "He's early."

"Over-confident?"

"I hope so."

--


	20. Chapter 20

--

Five minutes later, Paula's voice spoke into Carol's ear again. "Nkosi Mutasa's arrived."

"Tell Kev to bring them in," Carol replied.

"Nkosi Mutasa?" Alex guessed.

"Yep. You still there, Tony?"

Click. "Whenever you're ready, Carol."

As if on cue, Kevin lightly rapped on the door and entered. Behind him followed Nkosi Mutasa, thought slightly smaller and wearier than what his passport photo seemed to indicate. He looked older in person, too, much older than his 31 years would lead one to believe. It wasn't just that his jeans were too big on his thin frame or that his shirt had seen better days. There was something in his eyes that seemed to age him, something in his bowed shoulders that added a decade. Following him was an even slighter man, though his physical presence seemed to be a tightly coiled one. The hard angles of his face did nothing to make him any less imposing. Short cropped black hair and charcoal eyes rounded out a man who could only be described as soft as granite. The grey suit only added to the comparison.

With a slight push, he shoved Mutasa into a seat across Carol, then extended his hand to her. "Detective Bastien Hoch," he identified himself with a smile that caught both women off-guard. His voice seemed as compact as the rest of him, his accent slightly clipping his words.

"Superintendent Carol Jordan, Johannesburg police," she said and returned the handshake.

Alex did the same as she identified herself. "Detective Inspector Alex Fielding. I'm the local representative."

Hoch nodded. "We spoke on the phone."

"Yes."

"As you expect, this is Nkosi Mutasa," he indicated to the man slouched in the chair. "I'm directed to bring him back with me today, to face charges in false identity and forging official documents," he told them, answering their earlier uncertainty regarding the man's fate. "Unless of course, what you find today leads to a greater crime; then naturally he shall stay and we'll untangle the bureaucratic tape together."

Click. "I don't like him," Tony announced only to Carol.

Stifling a smile, Carol nodded her thanks to her German counterpart. "I don't imagine this will take long either way," she told him.

"Shall I wait here?" he asked.

Alex spoke up. "Kevin, could you give our guest a tour round? There's not much to see," she admitted to Hoch, "but it might be interesting to swap notes."

The detective agreed and turned to Kevin. "So long as we don't talk of the World Cup," he said to the younger man who laughed in return. Looking down at the suspect, any measure of joviality dissolved and all the edges returned. He pinned Mutasa with a glare. "I expect you'll tell these officers what they want to hear. Consider that my free advice to you." Like a flick of a switch, he smiled at the women. "Please let me know when you need me to fetch him."

When the door closed quietly behind the two men, Carol turned her attention to the suspect across the table. "I bet that was a fun trip."

Nkosi made a face but didn't respond.

"Please begin recording," Alex called to the ceiling. At her request, Paula hit the button and began the tape. "Today's date is June 7th. The time is 1:25pm," she dictated to the machine. "Present in the room are DI Alex Fielding, Superintendent Carol Jordan from the Johannesburg police, and Nkosi Mutasa. He is without a solicitor."

"You do know you're entitled to one, yeah?" Carol asked him. "We can provide one for you if necessary."

He looked at the table top. "What do I need one for? I've done nothing."

"You tried to get into a foreign country with a fake passport," Carol reminded him. He shrugged and looked away as if bored. "Why would you do that when you had a perfectly good one?" With the question, she pulled out an 8x10 from a folder under her left hand and turned it for him to see. Though his head didn't move, his eyes flicked down at the blown up image of his legitimate passport.

"I lost it and needed a new one."

"So you paid for a fake one?"

"I got it in half the time and half the cost," he smiled, as if he had made a joke.

Tony's warm voice spoke. "He's full of bravado, Carol, but not much else. He reacted when you told Hoch you were from Johannesburg. Cut through his bluster and lay your cards on the table."

"I've got another photo for you, Mr. Mutasa," Carol said and drew out the picture of Kayode's passport.

"I don't know him," he feebly proclaimed.

Both women raised their eyebrows. "Then you won't recognize your nephew like this, will you?" Carol asked as she threw down an autopsy photo of the dismembered torso.

Mutasa covered his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't know anything about that."

"Don't you?" she asked accusingly. "Well why don't we talk about what I know? I know Sigidi Amadi paid for a plane ticket for both you and your nephew, Kayode Dikobe. I know airport immigration has a record of you and Kayode entering the UK. I know those same records have you leaving- alone. I know DNA identifies this body as Kayode Dikobe." The lie ran smoothly off her tongue. "So I know that clearly, you know everything about this." He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "Do you think I give a shit about a fake passport, Mr. Mutasa? I didn't come all the way from Johannesburg to arrest you on some incidental charge. I'm here to arrest you for murder."

"Now watch the wheels turn," Tony said.

Leaning back, Mutasa closed his eyes and crossed his arms. When he opened them again, they flitted between the passport photo and the autopsy picture. His clenched teeth made his cheeks tighten and his bouncing knee hit the underside of the table. "I don't know anything about that," he repeated, though this time there was more sincerity than evasiveness to his voice. When he saw that neither woman's hard expression had wavered, he elaborated. "Yes, I brought Kayode with me. But when I left, he was alive, you must believe me."

"I'm sure a fake passport is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to your criminal past, Mr. Mutasa, so you'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it," Carol scoffed. "Where did you leave him?" Mutasa hesitated too long for Carol's liking and she said, "Right. I'll tell Detective Hoch you'll be staying, yeah?"

"Wait, wait," he said with a hand out. He seemed to contemplate his choices before finally saying, "Dangor Amadi is the one you're looking for."

"He seems to think that's quite a revelation," Tony remarked dryly. "Pretend it is."

"Not Sigidi Amadi?"

"No, his son, Dangor."

Feigning puzzlement, Carol asked, "Why his son?"

"He lives in Bradfield. He's the one I left Kayode with."

"Why would you do that?"

Realizing the path he had put himself on by divulging the name, he clammed up.

"He's been in the company of the very charming Detective Hoch for the better part of the day," Tony reminded Carol. "You've got him to drop Amadi's name. Be appreciative."

"Were you born in KwaGuga, like Kayode?" she asked.

Startled at the change of subject and the mention of the village, he frowned but answered, "Yes. Were you born in Johannesburg?"

Carol smiled. "No. I grew up in the rain of England, I'm afraid."

"I wish I had grown up in the rain of England."

"Bad childhood?" Tony asked.

"It can be hard growing up in South Africa, can't it?" Mutasa looked at her as if to question her knowledge. "I've only been there a little over a year, but I've already seen the economic division. I can drive twenty minutes through Johannesburg and it's like night and day."

"Like black and white," he said.

"Mmm, yes, I suppose so," she admitted. The room was quiet for a moment as Carol let the mood settle. Considering that pictures of a dead child lay out before her, she ventured forward with a gentleness that surprised her, asking, "Did your family owe Dangor Amadi a favour?"

Mutasa looked down and spoke into his chest. "Yes."

"And what kind of favour was that?" she prodded.

"He found us jobs in the mine," he sighed.

"Us?"

"Me and my two brothers. When we had nothing, Dangor offered us hope."

Carol frowned. "How did you come to know Dangor?"

"His father owns the mine," the forlorn man explained. "Our sister, Kayode's mother, cleaned the offices of Mr. Amadi. Dangor made no secret he liked her. So he got us jobs to try and get closer to her."

"I do this for your family, so you owe me," Carol hypothesized.

"Yes, but my sister wasn't interested."

"Why not?" Carol asked. "She didn't reciprocate his feelings?" When she saw his confusion, she rephrased the question. "She wasn't attracted to him?"

He nodded his understanding. "She was. But…"

Carol waited for more, but when nothing seemed to be forthcoming, she prompted, "But…"

Shifting in his seat, he looked down at Kayode's photos. "She was HIV positive."

"Was," Tony repeated in Carol's ear. "That might explain why you can't find her."

"We couldn't locate her," she mentioned to Mutasa. "Do you know where she is?"

"Gone."

It was clear he meant it in a permanent sense, and Carol decided to not press the topic further. Instead, she asked of the other parent. "Where's Kayode's father?"

Mutasa shrugged. "Monifa never told us. She said she regretted the event. But she said she couldn't bear to abort the child."

"Despite knowing the odds of transferring the HIV virus to her son?"

"She weighed it against the odds," he answered. "She knew there was a 50/50 chance her child would carry the virus, but she felt perhaps her chances were better." Seeing the inquiring tilt of Carol's head, he explained, "Our mother was HIV positive. That was how Monifa came to be sick. But none of the sons are infected. A strange decision by the fates. Monifa hoped her child would be as fortunate."

Click. "Why Bradfield?" Carol casually looked over her shoulder at Tony's question. Realizing his query was out of place in the current flow of the conversation, he elaborated, "This all took place in South Africa. How did Dangor Amadi end up in Bradfield?"

"So you and your family have been taking care of Kayode?" Carol asked.

"Yes."

"Do you still work in the mine?"

"Yes."

Almost off-handedly, she asked, "So how did Dangor Amadi come to be here in the UK?"

The memories of his sister and her fate burned his mood and added an edge to his answers. "He went to Oxford and when he was kicked out, he returned to KwaGuga. That's when our family came to know him. I was a teenage boy; he was in his twenties."

"Why did he leave?"

Mutasa shook his head at the memory. "Even as a grown man he causes trouble. Spent his family's money. Made a mockery of his family's name. Travelled with local criminals. Traded in magic. Pretended he was a sangoma to make people afraid of him."

"And were you afraid, Mr. Mutasa?"

He ignored the question and continued. "His father had enough. Sent him back to England."

"When was this?"

He furrowed his brow as he tried to recall the information. "About seven years ago? Before Kayode was born. I don't know the details."

"Whatever they were, Dangor obviously agreed."

"He is the fourth son in the family," he explained. "He knew he would never be given the family company."

"So he went off to make a fresh start in England," Carol finished. "Except that didn't work out so well either."

Shrugging again, Mutasa replied, "I don't know."

"Tell me what you do know. How did things come about between you, Dangor Amadi and Kayode?"

The hard mask fell and he slumped back in his chair. He picked at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt and it threatened to unravel the entire garment. "He called me in April. Dangor. Told me I needed to repay the debt my family owed him. If I delivered Kayode to him, the debt would be considered paid."

Carol leaned forward on her elbows. "Did he tell you what he planned to do with Kayode?"

Mutasa's eyes flicked down to the autopsy photo, and his bottom lip quivered. "No."

Though she knew her position was simply to represent the local authorities and to let Carol conduct the interview, Alex had had enough. "You bring a 6-year old boy to a strange country, leave him with a man you yourself have described as intimidating and unethical, and you did it having no idea what he would do to him?"

His voice rising, Mutasa said, "You don't understand- the debt must be repaid."

"With the life of a 6-year old child?" Alex asked, her volume matching his.

"Carol…" Tony warned.

Placing a hand on Alex's arm, Carol too found it difficult to keep her emotions in check.

"Carol," he repeated, "if he has any physical evidence to link Kayode to Amadi, you've got to find out what it is."

Nodding to the unseen voice behind the window, Carol breathed deeply and made an attempt to move forward. "Mr. Mutasa, you said he called you in April. Did he ever write you or e-mail you?"

"Three phone calls only," he replied. "One to collect the debt. One to remind me of my duty and to set up the travel plans. The last one was to make sure I understood all the arrangements."

Carol began piecing events together. "And part of the plan wasn't to return to Johannesburg straight away- that's why you were stopped entering Berlin."

"Yes."

"Did Dangor supply you with the fake passport?"

Mutasa nodded. "He told me not to return home; to stay away for a while."

"And that didn't make you suspicious; didn't make you wonder why he'd make such a request? Why he'd give you false papers?"

Faltering, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All he could offer was a shaky wipe of his face. Carol pushed ahead. "Where did you hand over Kayode?"

"At the Brani. We landed and I took a taxi directly to the restaurant. He then took Kayode and his bag. I went to a hotel near the airport and left the following day. I stayed in Paris, then transferred to Berlin, where I was detained."

Despite Tony's warning, the manner in which Mutasa recalled the events that ultimately led to the death of Kayode infused a bitterness in Carol's tone. "And you never thought of what your nephew might be doing?"

"We thought… we thought perhaps we were doing what was best for him. What future did he have in KwaGuga?"

The microphone clicked in Carol's ear, but she heard nothing except Tony's quiet breathing, as if he had intended to speak but couldn't find the words. She looked down at the photos, one of a 6-year old boy, full of promise and mischief, the other of that same boy, with all those things extinguished.

"What future did he have in England?" she asked of no one.


	21. Chapter 21

The four of them- Alex, Carol, Tony, and Paula- stood in the hallway outside the interview room. No one spoke, though they were all sharing the same thoughts. Carol leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, her head back as she looked for comfort in the ceiling tiles. She blew a stream of air through her pursed lips before looking at her co-workers and friends.

"Right. Paula, you can escort Mr. Mutasa downstairs and advise him of his right to a solicitor. Regardless of his intent or assumption, he's an accessory to murder. While you're at it, please apologize to Detective Hoch for the delay and inform him it's going to be longer than we first thought. Alex, if you'll get Amadi, we'll set things up and get this over with."

Tony spoke up. "Is there a way we can access his medical files?"

"Whose?" Alex asked.

"Dangor Amadi's." Getting blank looks from the trio of women, he said, "He was sweet on Monifa Mutasa. Does he come across as the type of man to take no for an answer?"

Carol and Alex, the two who had spent the most time with Amadi immediately shook their heads.

"Not bloody likely," Alex replied.

"Monifa Mutasa had AIDS," Paula said, putting the pieces together.

Carol slowly shook her head at another realization. Looking at Tony, she knew he thought the very same thing. "That will be poetic justice for the bastard, if it turns out he's positive," she said unapologetically. "But we might have something bigger to consider." With the full attention of Paula and Alex, she revealed, "According to Nkosi Mutasa, Dangor Amadi left South Africa about seven years ago. Kayode Dikobe was just over six years old."

Alex pressed her fingertips to her eyelids as she processed the possibilities. "God."

"You don't think…" Paula ventured. "Do you think he knew?"

"We probably shouldn't get ahead of ourselves," Tony reminded them.

Carol concurred. "We need to see his medical records first. Paula, when you're finished with the uncle, I want you and Kevin to dig up any medical background you can on our Mr. Amadi."

"How do we get around the confidentiality issue?" Paula asked.

"Call NCS and ask for Inspector Adriaan Dag. Tell him who it's for- he can blanket the request under Bill 49."

Paula didn't disguise her surprise. "The Anti-Terrorism Bill?"

"Anti-Terrorism, Crime and Security," Carol corrected. She saw the look between Paula and Alex. "What?"

"Well, it's just…"

"It's just, ethically, it's a slippery slope," Alex finished for her co-worker.

"And well within our rights according to the law," Carol said, and waited for a rebuttal. When nothing further came but another look between the two women, she turned to Paula. Snapping her fingers lightly, Carol said, "And we need a DNA sample from Nkosi Mutasa. I think he'll be willing to offer voluntarily, but remind him of his right to counsel. We'll avoid the slippery slope that way."

Though not entirely pleased with the route they were on, Paula assured her former boss. "I'm on it, Guv," 

"All right, go on then." She directed the younger woman to the interview room with a tilt of her head. "Whenever you're ready, Alex."

Her counterpart nodded and entered the next room over. Words, undecipherable through distance but unmistakeably negative in tone filtered out of the room.

"Someone isn't impressed by the comforts of the Bradfield Police," Tony surmised.

"He's lucky the bloody chairs aren't electric," Carol sourly replied.

As Alex, Amadi and his impeccably dressed lawyer came into the hallway, Carol plastered on a smile as she saw Paula and Nkosi exit their room. With more warmth than she felt, Carol extended her hand to Mutasa.

"We appreciate you coming in," she thanked him. "You've been an amazing help in this case."

Bewildered, but perhaps comforted by her attention, Mutasa wanly smiled back. "I feel much better, you know."

In light of the circumstances, it was an effort on Carol's part to keep the smile on her face. "We've got one or two more things to clear up, Mr. Mutasa. If you go with DC McIntyre, she'll finish things up."

He nodded his understanding and, at Paula's direction, started down the hall away from the two groups. He never once saw the carefully composed face of the man who had set these events in motion, events that ultimately touched more than the victim, Kayode Dikobe.

With Paula and Mutasa out of earshot, Carol held out her arm and gestured to the empty room. "Mr. Amadi, if you'd be so kind."

Tony held Carol back as the other three entered the room. "Leave Nkosi Mutasa's name out of things, at least in the early going. Make it about Amadi- let him worry about which tales he can get away with and which ones Mutasa told." She nodded and was about to turn when he held her just a bit longer. "Be careful, Carol. It's not so much the slippery slope I'm worried about as much as your footing on it."

She watched as he returned to the viewing area before she stepped into the adjoining interview room and was immediately accosted by the solicitor's complaints.

"I'd like to go on record voicing my concerns over the continued harassment of my client," the suit began. "It's my understanding that this isn't the first time he's been questioned."

"We've spoken to your client three times," Alex retorted. "The first was a general inquiry we had conducted throughout the area. The second was a follow-up of some of the answers given by your client. This is the third. I'd hardly call that either continued or harassment, Mr…"

"Adam Spence," he replied and continued on his rant. "And we've been left waiting for over forty minutes."

Carol couldn't help but facetiously inquire, "You get paid by the hour, don't you, Mr. Spence?" His dark brows lowered and he opened his mouth to object, but was stopped short by Carol's raised hand. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"

"Yes, let's," he replied, attempting to regain a measure of superiority.

"Begin recording," Carol called out.

Tony was the lone occupant of the viewing room, but had been a spectator of enough interviews that he knew the routine as much as anyone else, and knew enough to reach over to the small recording device and press the button.

Giving what she assumed was a long enough pause for the machine to start, Alex began identifying those in the room. "Interview room number two, the date is June 7th, the time is approximately 2:05pm. In the room are DI Alex Fielding, Superintendent Carol Jordan of the Johannesburg police, interviewee Dangor Amadi and his solicitor, Adam Spence."

Carol got right to the point. "Mr. Amadi, we've already established that you know Nkosi Mutasa and Kayode Dikobe. Is that correct?"

"Yes," he replied.

"And how well do you know them?"

"Our families are friends," Amadi hedged. 

"He's already wondering how much he can fabricate," Tony told her.

"Right," Carol said, looking down at her open folder. "You mentioned you owed the family a favour."

He gauged the risk of the statement but found none. "Yes."

"What exactly was that favour, Mr. Amadi? You never did say."

"I don't see the relevance," the solicitor cut in.

"Well, it was big enough that your client paid for the flights of two people from Johannesburg to Bradfield. I'm curious what kind of favour would constitute that kind of repayment." She let the unanswered question linger before going ahead. "You did purchase them tickets to Bradfield."

Spence interrupted again. "Technically, his father paid for the tickets."

"But his son was the one who owed this alleged favour, and it is his son who has now twice gladly accepted credit for fulfilling this favour."

Amadi waved away any objections from his lawyer. "Yes, my father paid for the tickets at my request. That isn't a crime."

"So you had flights booked for them," Carol continued. "Then what?"

Shaking his head, Amadi replied, "That is all. I never saw them. I don't even know if they made it into the country."

Alex spoke up. "Customs records and the fact that we found the Kayode's torso in Marden Woods indicate that they did."

"It's my understanding that you can't claim with 100 accuracy that the torso even belongs to Kayode Dikobe," Spence noted. "You have no DNA evidence to identify the boy."

"Your understanding should change once Nkosi Mutasa's sample comes back," Alex sweetly informed him.

While the lawyer looked bewildered and Amadi shifted in his seat, Carol inquired, "How's business, Mr. Amadi?"

He frowned. "It's well, I suppose. Some months are better than others, but that's the nature of the restaurant business."

"I only ask because you seem to have multiple loans outstanding. I see you even have two with banks in Czechoslovakia and Hungary." Before that information could settle, Carol casually mentioned, "You know, this reminds me of the London case a few years ago- a torso was pulled out of the Thames. Investigators came to the conclusion that it was a muti killing."

"That's quite a conclusion," Amadi sniffed, "as I've never heard of such a killing actually taking place."

Carol's face opened in curiosity. "So you know of the ritual?"

He shrugged. "Yes. It was a horror story we were told as children. Of men stealing into houses and whisking away the children in the middle of the night. But as we grew older, we realized it was only a story meant to frighten us."

The lawyer looked from his client to Carol and back again. "What's this about?"

It was Alex who explained. "Those involved in a muti killing dismember the victim, preferably a child, in order to gain the victim's luck. Blood is consumed, bone joints are made into charms and it's fairly common for parts of the victim to be eaten."

"What does this have to do with my client?"

Folding her arms on the table and leaning forward, Carol noted, "Well, if your financial statements mean anything, you've been a bit down on your luck lately, haven't you, Mr. Dangor?"

The solicitor chuckled in disbelief. "That's quite a stretch. From a financial bump in the road to dismemberment."

Tony quietly gave Carol a piece of information through the ear bud. "The consumption of human flesh causes cholesterol levels to go through the roof."

"When's the last time you had a cholesterol test?" Carol queried.

Puzzled, Amadi said, "I had a complete physical examination two months ago. I'm in perfect health."

"We're just concerned about your well-being, Mr. Amadi," Carol told him with facetious interest. "Consuming human flesh doesn't do your cholesterol levels any favours."

Outraged at the implication, the lawyer stood and declared, "We're done here."

Carol pinned him with a withering gaze and continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Here's what I think. There was a favour owed, but it was Nkosi Mutasa's family who owed the favour to you, Mr. Amadi. Things haven't been going well so you decided to collect. Having knowledge of the muti practice and thinking enough of yourself to presume to be a sangoma, you knew exactly how you'd get Mutasa to repay you. So you flew them over here, took Kayode Dikobe and put the uncle back on the first flight out of Bradfield."

Still standing, but calmer now, Spence claimed, "If you had some real evidence, that would be a convincing story." He sat down and interlaced his fingers on the table. "Now here's what I think. My client owed a favour. He paid it by flying Nkosi Mutasa and his nephew over to the UK. End of story. What they did when they got here and where they are now is of no concern of my client, nor does he have any information regarding either inquiry." When neither woman spoke, he said, "Find me a murder weapon. Find me a witness. Find me a motive beyond a few unpaid bills and a spooky childhood story. Find me the uncle and get back to me."

Carol halted his rise with her hand. "The good news is, I can fulfill the latter, Mr. Spence." She looked right at Dangor Amadi.

"And now the moment of truth for our Mr. Amadi," Tony remarked.

"We have Nkosi Mutasa downstairs," Alex casually informed the two men. "You may have missed him earlier."

The look on Amadi's face indicated otherwise.

"So," Carol stated, "that will clear up the DNA identification."

The lawyer had more practice at looking self-assured than his client. "And I'm sure his story contradicts Mr. Amadi's." Carol tilted her head to signify the affirmative. "Of course it does. Does he put my client at the scene? Does he have any proof my client was ever with Kayode Dikobe? Does he have any evidence whatsoever beyond his own story that no doubt clears him of the crime?" Again, neither woman spoke. Looking at Carol, he feigned politeness. "Can we leave now?"

The two men stood and Alex followed suit. Carol spoke up from her seat. The anger and frustration she felt bubbled just under the surface of her calm façade. But there was also a tinge of sadness that perhaps only Tony picked up.

"Did you know 'Kayode' means 'he brought joy'? I hope he lived up to his name, Mr. Amadi."


	22. Chapter 22

--

--

Alex looked expectantly at Carol, who could only give a resigned shrug. Standing, Alex followed the two men out of the room and nearly ran into Tony who was stepping into the hallway. Mirroring Carol's gesture, Alex shrugged as she watched Amadi and his lawyer depart.

"I suppose it was as we expected."

"No bolt of guilt to elicit a tidy confession," Tony supplied.

"No." She sighed, tired and frustrated. "We've got the medical admission. That's something."

"Yes."

They looked at each other, both feeling that they had failed Kayode Dikobe. "It's shit, isn't it, Tony?" she asked rhetorically. A reply wasn't expected, so he gave none. "I'm going to let Paula know what we've found, see if Nkosi Mutasa agreed to a DNA test. Then I'm going to pick up Ben and try to forget how crappy I feel." She touched his arm in a gesture of comfort before leaving him to stand alone in the hallway.

He took a moment to look at Carol through the 5x7 window that framed her at the table. Though her professional mask remained, there was something about her that dulled the edges. A slight slump in her shoulders, a soft down-turn of her mouth. He thought about this woman he had known for almost a third of his life. He had always fought to maintain a strong distinction between their professional and personal lives, to not take professional rebukes personally, and to not bring personal issues to the job. For the most part, he would have said it worked. They met through the job and worked well together. He was proud of the successes they had as a professional team. But he was also slowly realizing that the line between the professional and the personal wasn't as clear as he thought; that in fact, for Tony, the reason for their professional success was based largely on his feelings for Carol on a personal level. He strove harder, not because he wanted to help the Bradfield police, but because he wanted to help Carol. He revelled in her achievements because of personal pride rather than professional ego. And in moments like these, to see her there, defeated, he felt a large well of sadness within him, not because of colleague consideration but because of genuine affection.

He took a deep breath and exhaled quietly, then turned the handle of the door.

--

She acknowledged his entrance with a turn of her head. "Misery loves company, eh?"

"I love _your_ company."

It was said with such honest earnestness that it made Carol smile despite the circumstances. "Alex off to give Paula some direction regarding Amadi's medical history?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She sat quietly and he stood awkwardly until she invited him over. "Come sit down and commiserate."

He did as he was told and sat across from her, but said nothing. Before the silence could settle comfortably between them, Carol spoke. "So let's see if I've got the score sheet right, yeah?" she asked, looking off to the side and narrowing her eyes. Holding up one finger, she tallied, "I came here to charge Dangor Amadi on multiple suspicions of human trafficking." She held up another finger. "I was lead here because of his involvement in the murder of a young boy, independent of my investigation." She held out her opposite hand, palm up. "I'm going back having arrested him for neither. Two-nil by my count."

"Wait until the medical records come back," Tony offered.

"For what? So they might prove he's Kayode's father; they might prove he has AIDS. Neither will prove his guilt. And in all likelihood, we'll have to let Nkosi Mutasa go, certainly on a lesser charge than Kayode Dikobe demands. At least two people are responsible for his death, but no one will end up accountable."

He knew she was right, no matter how he might try to find a positive. The fact remained, they had little fact. No weapon, no witness, no forensic evidence. While there was always a certain amount of disappointment when a person, highly suspected of guilt, was released by the courts, the one consolation was the belief that the cycle of justice had been completed to the best of its ability in that particular case. But it was the gnawing frustration in cases like this one that lingered. A wrench had been thrown in the wheel of justice and it left a bitter taste in the mouths of all those involved on the right side of the law.

"We still haven't heard back from the computer boys," Tony reminded her, not willing to give up just yet.

"True," Carol admitted. "And they seemed quite confident they'd find something."

"It only takes one lead."

"I suppose I should take some comfort in that- justice for many over justice for one."

Tony shook his head and held up his hands in mock surrender. "That's an ethical quandary that has been debated for centuries, Carol. I'm more likely to solve the mystery of Easter Island than answer that dilemma."

She slowly rotated the photo of the 6-year old that was still on the table. Though she said nothing, Tony knew what she was thinking. The case would be filed away in her mind, set aside but not forgotten, and she would use it to push herself harder in the next case. He knew these things because he was thinking the very same. She stood and collected the three photographs, gently placing them in the folder and tapped the edges on the table.

"Think anyone will notice if we leave early?" she asked.

He stood. "You don't want to see what the computer team has found?"

Shaking her head, she replied, "If they had found anything, we would have been told. Let them do their work. Take me home, or a reasonable equivalent." As they walked together, shoulder-to-shoulder to the door, Carol asked, "So what is your theory on Easter Island?"

He reached for the door handle. "Well, the prevailing theory seems to be…" He looked up as he held the door open for her and saw a faint flicker of amusement behind her eyes. "Oh, I see. That was your attempt at a wind-up."

"It was my attempt at forgetting this shitty day."

He nodded at her candour, then a smile slowly lifted the corners of his mouth. "I might have a better idea."

--

Alex blinked in pleased confusion when she pulled open the door and saw Tony and Carol standing on the step. The tilt of her head invited an explanation from the duo.

Tony held up two paper bags that were emitting a myriad of aromas. "I know it's short notice, but since it's not Ben's night to cook, we thought we'd do the honours."

She scoffed. "I do cook, you know."

"I know," Tony said. "Poor Ben."

"Careful I don't take the bags and leave you on the doorstep," Alex cautioned.

"Feel free to leave him," Carol said, "but I've brought the wine."

"Hiya, Tony," Ben welcomed as he appeared from behind his mother.

"Saved by the boy," Alex noted.

Ben looked at Carol and, though his greeting wasn't as exuberant as it was with Tony, he was bold enough to say, "Hello."

Carol nodded her head in response to the young boy. "Hello. I'm Carol."

"Are you a mate of Tony's?"

She could feel Tony's mischievous eyes on her. "Yes, I am. You must be Ben."

His face lit up with a broad smile. "I am."

"Tony's told me a lot about you, Ben."

The boy beamed and Alex shook her head in amusement. "And he's brought us something for tea," Alex told her son. "Why don't we invite them in and you can have a proper sit down with Carol and Tony?"

"Are they staying for tea?"

"Why don't you ask them?"

Ben glanced up at Tony expectantly. "Would you like us to?" Tony asked.

"Yay!" he cheered his answer.

"Come on in," Alex invited them. As they all stepped inside, she said, "Ben, why don't you take the bag Carol's holding? I'll take the food and we'll set the table." To Tony, she said, "You know your way round. Why don't you take Carol into the living room and find something to entertain yourself until Ben and I are ready?" As he made a move to follow her direction, she added, "Don't let me catch you analyzing my DVD collection again."

--

They all sat at the small square table, Tony across from Alex, and Carol to Tony's left, across from Ben. Plates lay empty before them, takeaway containers open and steaming in the middle of the table. Though the boy had protested, he had to settle for a glass of milk while the three adults each had a glass of red wine. Ben led the grace and at 'Amen' snapped his eyes open and reached for a container. Alex coughed loudly and glanced over to Carol then back to her son. The boy was quick to pick up the hint, and quite smoothly changed his action from a reach to an invitation. Turning his palm up, he gestured to the containers.

"Would you like to go first, Carol?"

She couldn't help but smile at his 'save'. "Thank you, Ben," she replied and chose the container closest to her. After spooning some of the contents onto her plate, she handed it to Alex and took another. The food was passed this way, in a clockwise order, until everyone had something.

Ben scooped a forkful into the side of his mouth and spoke with the other. "Are you a doctor like Tony?"

"Manners," Alex reminded him and tapped his cheek gently.

"No, I'm not," Carol answered him. "I'm a police officer, like your mum."

Ben's eyes widened with interest. "Really?" He turned to Alex. "Is that true, Mum?" When she confirmed the information with a nod, he looked at Carol. "Do you work with my mum?"

"No. In fact, right now, I don't even work in England. I'm a police officer in South Africa."

It didn't seem possible, but his eyes got wider. He looked at Alex again but was muted by his awe.

Alex laughed and suggested, "Perhaps after tea you can bring your globe downstairs and have Carol show you."

"There goes my status as 'coolest person in the room'," Tony lamented.

The 7-year old put another fork of food into his mouth, and was about to speak when he remembered his mother's tap. Chewing quickly and swallowing, he asked, "How are you mates with Tony if you live in Africa?"

"I used to work in Bradfield," she explained. "But then I got a new job."

He nodded slowly as he digested his food and her words. Then, in a way only a child could phrase, he blithely asked, "Did you come back for Tony?"

The clatter of cutlery on plates ceased, and the path of Tony's wine glass stopped abruptly between the table and his lips. Oblivious to the deeper meaning behind his words, Ben's attention briefly turned back to his plate where he dug in for another mouthful of food.

Whether it was to avoid getting into the lurid details of her return, or whether she decided there was an element of truth to his question, Carol simply replied, "Yes."

"She's a pretty good mate, isn't she?" Tony asked Ben.

With cheeks full, he nodded eagerly and gave them a smile that under minded all his efforts to remember his manners.

--

The two women were left alone as Ben convinced Tony to go upstairs with him and help him find his globe. Alex took a place in the chair to the right of the couch where Carol sat. Nursing her coffee, Alex looked up at the ceiling and tried to divine the action through sound, but all was quiet.

She raised her eyebrows. "I wonder what that was all about?"

With a hum, Carol agreed there was something afoot. "Whatever it is, I'm sure Tony will suss it out."

"Ben absolutely adores him," Alex marvelled. "I suppose I'm just happy he seems to have a male role model."

"Even if it is Tony Hill."

She smiled along with Carol. "Even if it is Tony Hill. You know, he has a wonderful way with Ben. I can't explain it, really."

"I think there's a genuine openness to Tony," Carol ventured. "He is who he is, and there's no hidden agenda. He's always been that way and I suspect he always will be. I can see how a young boy might find that honesty and consistency appealing."

"It's more than Ben's father ever gave him."

"Can I ask…" Carol queried.

Alex shrugged. "Let's just say he lacked a fair amount of honesty and the only consistency he displayed was being a bastard."

"Oh."

Laughing, Alex apologized. "Was that a bit overboard?"

"I wasn't married to him, so I can't say," Carol smiled. "But if the little I infer of him is any indication, he's not much of a father, so your assessment is probably spot on."

Carefully gauging the heat of her drink, Alex took a sip before resting the cup on the arm of her chair. "So, can I ask…"

Carol looked at her blankly for a moment until the meaning behind the question became clear. "Oh," she replied. Realizing that didn't qualify as an answer, she gazed into her own cup and shook her head in soft amusement. "Where to begin?" She was grateful for the good-natured laugh from Alex that dispelled the awkwardness. She was even more grateful to hear Tony and Ben come down the stairs.

"Should I take the length of your absence as a sign that your bedroom needs to be cleaned?" Alex asked her son.

Tony covered for the young boy. "He was showing me his Harry Potter collection, isn't that right?" He looked to Ben who nodded. "Why don't you get Carol to show you how far she's travelled?" As the boy plopped himself happily beside Carol, Alex mouthed, "What's that about?" to which Tony wordlessly replied, "Later." He sat on the other side of Carol and smiled at Ben who sat in anticipation.

"Why don't you show me where we are," Carol suggested.

Ben took a second to find the small island. Placing his index finger on the spot, he announced, "We're here."

"Well done," she praised. "Now keep your finger there." She put hers beside his, then slowly began the trajectory away from England. She moved slowly for effect, skipping glacially over the topographical bumps on the globe. Her game was working because the farther she moved down the map, the more amazed Ben became. Past France, through Libya, beyond Chad and Zimbabwe until finally stopping on the dot that marked Johannesburg.

"That's far!" he exclaimed.

Carol laughed. "Yes it is."

"Can I come visit someday?"

Without looking at Tony, she replied, "I'd love for you to visit, but I'm thinking of moving back to England."

"Will you move back to Bradfield?"

"Yes."

He looked around Carol at Tony and gave a broad smile. Then, in general 7-year old fashion, his attention jumped ahead. "Will you come for tea again?"

She laughed again. "I will if you'd like, yes."

Ben looked to Alex. "Can she, Mum?"

"If she'd like, of course she can." Ben seemed pleased with the reply and before he could go off on another inquisitive tangent, Alex said, "Go put your globe back upstairs and start getting ready for bed."

Ben's face fell. "Mum…"

He was halted in mid-whine by her hard look, and Tony softened the command by saying, "We've got to go anyway, don't we, Carol?"

"Yes, we do. You've got a class to teach in the morning."

"And you've got police things to take care of."

Ben was hardly convinced by their exchange, but he dutifully did as he was told and collected his globe from Carol.

"You can come back down and say good-bye after you've washed up." Like a shot, he bolted upstairs. "Clean your teeth!" Alex shouted after him. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned to Tony. "What was that all about earlier?"

"Doctor/patient confidentiality," he replied, and received the same look she had given Ben, only tenfold. Sitting back, he looked from Alex to Carol and back again, and glanced over to the stairs. Certain the coast was clear, he whispered, "He was kissed by a girl today."

Alex's eyes widened. "What? Where?"

"On the cheek."

She frowned at his answer. Shaking her head, she said, "No. Where, as in geographically."

"Oh. At school."

Alex let the information settle for a moment. "What did he say?"

"He was confused at first," Tony told her. "Normal reaction, considering he's at that age where the male perception of the opposite sex is along the lines of what Ben referred to as 'icky'." Carol suppressed a smile. "But considering it was Jasmine Sterling and she's the prettiest girl in school and the most popular and everyone likes her-"

"I hope those are Ben's words, too," Alex interjected.

Tony frowned at the interruption. "Anyway, he's consolidated his immediate reaction as a 7-year old boy with his evolutionary impulses as a male and has come to the conclusion that it's 'cool'. I gave him some advice that he seemed to appreciate and it all seems sorted."

Alex smirked. "You gave him advice? Do tell."

"Well, nothing… specific," he stammered. "More generalities than anything."

Narrowing her eyes, Carol turned in her seat and asked, "Did my name happen to come into the advice portion of your conversation?"

"Why?"

Though it was a question, Carol took it as an answer. "I knew it. That's why he gave you that smile when I said I as moving back to Bradfield."

"He might have asked me if I had been kissed by a girl. From my answer he might have extrapolated that it was you." Carol groaned and he glanced over at an amused Alex. "It's your fault. You've obviously passed the detecting gene to him."

Alex tossed her head back and laughed. "I'm not getting you out of this one, Tony." With a large measure of amusement still running through her tone, she said, "Anyway, I suppose it could have been a trickier minefield. He could have been kissed by Jasmine's brother!"

--

Despite some last minute protestations by Ben, everyone had said their good-byes, and now Carol sat back in the passenger seat of Tony's car while he pulled out of Alex's drive. Her window was open slightly and she tilted her face to the gentle night breeze. She reached to her right and curled her fingers around his forearm as he shifted gears. He went through the cycle of the first three gears before she spoke.

"That was exactly what I needed, Tony, thank you," she said as she turned to him. "Ben's a wonderful boy."

"I thought the visit could have gone either way," he admitted. The streetlights alternated shadow and light on his face, and his blue eyes went dark then bright, dark then bright. "The company might have had the opposite effect."

"No," she told him. "I mean, I understand your reservation. But it was nice to spend time with all that positive energy. It's hard not to be reminded of the goodness of life." He quickly flicked his attention from the road to her face and smiled. "So, what exactly did you tell Ben about me kissing you?"

--


	23. Chapter 23

--

He rolled over in the warm bed and fought his body's alarm clock that was slowly pulling him from the comforts of sleep.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled into the pillow. "Five more minutes." The laugh came not from beside him but from somewhere away from the bed. He turned his torso and squinted his eyes open. Carol was dressing at the foot of the bed. "Why does it go on easier than it comes off?"

She frowned in confusion and wondered if it was something random said in the haze of sleep. It was when she finished putting on her bra that she realized the source of his comment. Eyes wide, she marvelled, "Did you just make a joke about our sex life? Right. Where's Tony Hill?"

He flopped back into the soft pillow. "Tony Hill is sleeping."

"Well, I believe it's my turn to get breakfast so your five minutes have been granted," she told him as she finished dressing.

"It took me ten," came the barely audible reply.

Smiling, she walked to the bed and, tucking her hair behind her ear, she bent and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Ten it is."

--

The door of his flat clicked shut behind her, and silence descended, but he knew any hope of falling back to sleep was gone. The morning had worked its way into his head as did the image of Carol so casually dressing at the foot of his bed. There was a dichotomy to the latter he couldn't quite get a handle on- the newness of her actions in his presence against the feeling that these things had always been there, just waiting to be discovered.

Unchartered inevitability.

He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes and silently pleaded with his brain to turn off, even for a moment. It wasn't an easy task for a man who never seemed to stop thinking, but his brain surprised him. Once again, he was given the image of Carol at the end of the bed, but instead of the entanglements of analysis, he only felt the embrace of simply being. In those quiet moments alone with her, away from the horrors of their jobs, at last he was able to replace dead eyes with trusting ones, cold bodies for warm soft skin, nightmares for possibilities, and loneliness for a woman who dressed in his bedroom. And undressed.

He lifted the blanket and gave his body a direct order. "No," he said and covered himself again. Looking up at the ceiling, he told his brain he'd changed his mind and searched for something to distract him. The DSM list of the ten personality disorders popped into his head.

--

Deciding the best defence was a good offence, Tony was showered and dressed by the time Carol returned. He was standing in the kitchen when she opened the door.

"Someone's up and ready to go," she remarked as she placed the warm brown bag on the table and sat down.

Swallowing the unintended double entendre, he replied, "Thought I'd have coffee ready when you came back." The metal spoon clinked against the ceramic lip of the cup that he brought to her, along with his own. Taking a seat across from her, he asked, "So what's on your agenda today?"

"Getting back on the horse," she answered, catching the errant pastry crumb in the corner of her mouth with the tip of her finger. "Yesterday was a setback, but you're right- we've still got the computer boys on the job. If there's something to be found, they'll find it. And I know damn well there's something to be found." He nodded, pleased that the new day rejuvenated her drive. "And," she began as she gazed at her distorted reflection in her coffee, "I'm going to speak with John Brandon." She glanced up to see his response and was met with a gentle smile. "I thought perhaps it would be best to have that sorted before any other decisions were made."

"He'll be thrilled to see you, Carol."

"Yes, well, we'll see how far that gets me. Anyway, what are your plans? You've got a class, yeah?"

"Two," he told her. "One session in the morning, one after lunch."

"Busy day corrupting young minds then," she teased.

He scowled though his tone was light. "I prefer to call it 'gentle persuasion'," he corrected.

"Of course," she demurred. Pushing her cuff back, she checked the time. "Do you need a ride to the university?"

"Will you be free by four to pick me up?"

"I'll make sure I'm free."

"Then yes, a ride would be appreciated."

He stood and collected their cups, stopping for Carol to down the last mouthful. She gathered the crumbs on the table with the edge of her hand and brushed them into the paper bag which she then rolled and handed to Tony. Making the short trip to the kitchen, he put the bag in the recyclables and quickly rinsed out the mugs and set them in the sink. She was at the door of the flat and slipping on her shoes.

"Ready?" she asked him as he did the same.

He grabbed his coat from the peg. "Yes."

She looked around him and frowned. "Where's your little blue bag?"

"Forgotten at school yesterday," he sheepishly admitted.

"I'll have to start pinning notes on you, shall I?"

"Thanks, Mum."

--

The computer room was an interesting contrast between frat boy and obsessive compulsive. The room itself, though stark white, was slowly being taken over by cartoons, gaming images and the requisite SUN girl. Basketball hoops were constructed over waste paper bins and Carol noted at least four robots that seemed to be made with nothing more than paper clips and elastic bands. A tower of computer magazines teetered precariously on a low coffee table in front of a well worn couch. A discarded computer made a second small table on which sat a lamp and remote control that operated what, Carol couldn't tell.

Yet there was something organized about it all. One large rectangular table sat in the middle of the room, with four computers and all the required accessories. Seating was set in such a way that when all four computers were in use, two users on one side of the table would face two others across it. There were no cubicles or dividers between them. The intent was to allow an open exchange of information and ideas, though the four pairs of headphones seemed to negate the idea. It was also surprisingly neat. Paper was stacked neatly in trays, pens were collected in a jar, and with the exception of a pile of energy drink cans in the corner, clutter was kept to a minimum.

"It's a study of art in progress," the young man said without looking up from his monitor.

As they were the only two in the room, Carol assumed the comment was directed at her quizzical attention to the corner. "Oh?"

Looking up, he explained, "It grows the more we drink."

Tilting her head, she remarked, "Seems to me it's a physical representation of disposable consumption." When she saw his eyes blink blankly, she shrugged. "I've got a friend who's really into psychology."

"Ah," he replied as if understanding. Realizing he didn't recognize her, he pushed back on his swivel chair and turned to face her. "Can I help you?"

She stepped forward. "Carol Jordan. I was in the other day regarding a case."

He snapped his fingers. "The human trafficking case."

"Yes."

He stood up and extended his hand. "Phil McCreary." Rolling his neighbour's chair over, he invited her to sit. Not waiting to see if she accepted, he began a series of types and clicks on the keyboard. A series of small windows popped up on the monitor screen which he turned slightly so she could see. "I'll put it in the simplest terms so you'll understand," he began, somehow missing Carol's eye roll. "Though it's all digital nowadays, it's still the equivalent to a paper trail. We start with a handful of sources and work our way back to one. The advantage we have in the age of technology is, once we have that source, we can change gears and go forward to see if there are more connections. The trick is finding the one thing these bastards think they've deleted from their hard drive. Usually it's not very hard because crims aren't very smart." Carol nodded in agreement. "This was a bit more difficult though, because almost everything was in a language no one recognized."

"There are eleven recognized languages in South Africa besides English."

"Yeah, we finally figured that out. It was IsiNdebele." Carol tried not to smile at the young man's feeble attempt to pronounce the language. "Still, nothing came up until we went through the porn sites again." He saw her raised eyebrow and defended his comment. "It was all above board, thank you very much." He coughed nervously and continued, "We thought it was the usual porn fare found on 99 of hard drives, but the one thing we noticed was a distinct lack of premium prefixes in the phone number." He clicked on a box and it filled the screen. "Sorry about the imagery. But do you see?" he asked as he touched a line with his finger. "No 900, 0900, 0870 or the like. What kind of porn site offers it for free?"

"I wouldn't know," Carol slyly replied, "I normally hack around the security log-in."

The computer technician stopped and looked straight at her, attempting to assess the truthfulness in her comment. She returned his examination with an open expression that told him nothing. Coughing again, he said, "Right. Anyway, we traced the number to a man in Poland. A Jozef Stolarski. Not surprisingly, his name raised a flag with INTERPOL. They've had him on their watch list for the last two years."

"For trafficking?"

McCreary shook his head. "For laundering. He runs a string of successful coffee shops in Warsaw. Too successful, according to INTERPOL's book keepers."

"So what's his connection to Dangor Amadi?"

He leaned back and rubbed his hands through his short hair. "Where to begin? Once Stolarski's name came up, we were given a list of other names by INTERPOL. A list of, oh, about two hundred."

"What?" Carol asked incredulously.

"Sorry. If it means anything, Amadi's digital path has crossed at least a dozen names on that list. Once we crack some of the proxy IP addresses, I suspect that number will grow. An IP address is- "

"An Internet Protocol address. A 32-bit numeric address written as four numbers separated by periods using the numbers 0 to 255. The Internet Assigned Numbers Authority creates the addresses then allocates large blocks to regional internet registries who then break down the blocks into smaller ones and allocates those to internet providers. The difficulty for you comes in trying to pin down specific computers to numbers, because they're using either dynamic IP addresses that constantly change, or proxy addresses, which are fake."

He paused for a moment, as if re-evaluating his initial impression of her. She caught his look and, reaching over to the CD tower beside his monitor, she pulled out a case. "You can thank my brother for all your sleepless nights."

McCreary took the CD from her hand and looked at the cover. It was a maddingly addictive first-person horror game that he had spent the better part of a month unlocking. He laughed, then tilted his head at her. "Michael Jordan?"

"An unfortunate name," she admitted. "But he was born before the basketball player became famous, so he's forgiven our mother."

"That's aces!" he beamed. "Do you think I could meet him?"

She nudged her chin towards the computer. "Do you think you'll get Amadi?"

His demeanour became serious again, knowing the difference between work and play. "It's going to take time." She waited patiently for more. Looking at the monitor, he nodded his head, growing more confident. "It's only a matter of time."

"Good," she replied and stood. "You get Amadi and you'll get to pick my brother's gargantuan brain."

--

The offices of the newly minted National Crime Profiling Task Force were across town; the line of thinking being, in this day and age, it wasn't necessary to house all law enforcement agencies in one city block. Or maybe it was the NCPTF's way of trying to stay out of the local force's hair. The sharp smell of fresh paint hit Carol the minute she stepped through the door. She waited briefly for her eyes to adjust to the light before she spotted a small circular counter in the middle of the large foyer. As she approached, she was met by the no-nonsense look of the 40-something woman at the desk. Her name tag was as direct as its owner. "Irene" was all it said.

"Yes?" she queried before Carol had the chance to speak.

Somewhat startled, Carol stammered, "John Brandon. I'm here to see John Brandon. I'm Carol Jordan."

The look didn't waver. "Are you expected?"

"No," Carol said, feeling a bit more confident now that she had the time to recover. "But I've come all the way from South Africa to see him."

This bit of information didn't impress JustIrene one iota. "I'll see if he's available." She pushed a button on the phone pad and spoke into the small hands-free receiver in her ear. "Sorry to disturb," she said into the air, "but there's a Carol Jordan here to see you." There was a pause then a repeat of Carol's name, followed by another pause. "I'll send her up straight away." Another tap of the keypad and a return of attention to Carol. "He'll see you now. Eighth floor, left from the lift, down the hall to the right."

"Thank you," Carol replied and made her way to the elevator she had discreetly located while JustIrene was on the phone. The fewer questions she needed to ask the receptionist the better, Carol decided.

She fidgeted while she watched the lights of the elevator click down to her floor, and chastised herself for the nervousness. She had known John Brandon for over a decade, the older man being her supervisor for the majority of that time. When he reached sixty, the higher ups on the force decided his duty was done. While the new generation of suits had enough power to gently remove him from his position, Brandon had been on the force long enough to make friends with long memories in the national force. Or, as he had put it to Carol, "As you get your arse kicked out one door, you stumble over the threshold of another."

The bell chimed and the doors opened. Stepping in, Carol replayed JustIrene's directions in her head.

--

"Carol!" the older man exclaimed in undisguised delight when he spotted her. Moving around his desk, he greeted her at the door with a warm embrace. "When Irene said your name, I couldn't believe it. How are you?"

"I'm well, sir," she answered with a smile, caught up in his exuberance.

"Call me 'sir' again and I'll have you arrested for something," he warned her. "I have the power to do that now, you know."

Laughing, she replied, "I've heard."

"Sit, sit," he told her as he patted the back of a chair. Walking towards the window, he opened a small cabinet and pulled out two glasses. "Drink?" When he saw her blatant glance at her watch, he scoffed. "Doesn't have to be alcoholic, though it's never too early for a stiff drink."

She shook her head in amusement. "Just water for me, thanks."

He complied with her request and poured himself the same. Bringing the glasses over, he turned the partner to her chair round to face her, tapped her knee and sat down. "What brings you back to Bradfield? Last I heard, you were jaunting off to South Africa."

"Yes, and thank you for the glowing references, by the way." He brushed off her thanks with a wave of his hand. "I came back because, ironically enough, a case I was working on there had connections with one here."

"The torso case." Seeing her look of surprise, he said, "It's got quite a profile, this one. Ghastly affair. I heard you got NCS to enforce Bill 49." She opened her mouth to speak but he waved his hand again. "No need to explain, Carol. I thought it was a damn ballsy call, but I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Thank you, sir." He glowered at the term and she quickly corrected herself. "John."

He smiled. "That's better. So, have you seen Tony Hill?" She thought her expression was properly guarded, but he grinned. "I've known you too long for that trick, Carol. I'm glad," he said and tapped her knee once more. "You deserve happiness." Realizing the geographic circumstances, he furrowed his brow. "That's going to be one hell of a long-distance relationship," he remarked.

"Yes, well…" she agreed, then tentatively laid the foundation for her request. "I'm most likely moving back to Bradfield."

"I see. Will you be getting your old position back?"

"I haven't inquired. I'm not really keen on pushing out DI Fielding in the process."

"She does seem quite competent," he agreed. "She turned down a London job to stay, did you know that?"

"No," Carol replied. "All the more reason to not make things difficult- she obviously wants to stay."

"And you want to come back."

"Yes."

"Well," he began as he sat back and stretched out his legs, "we're a fairly new group here." She nodded. "Personalities haven't quite gelled and positions haven't been entirely defined or filled." He checked his nails and glanced up mischievously. "What kind of credentials do you have? Got anyone who could vouch for you?"

She smiled, this time with as much relief as amusement. "I know one or two who might put in a good word for me."

He held out his hand and shook hers. "Let me know when you've cleared everything with South Africa and you've settled back in Bradfield, and we'll talk again."

"Thank you, sir."

"I reserve the right to sack you if you call me that in private again," he sternly told her. Then, with a gentle smile, he said, "It's good to have you back, Carol."

--


	24. Chapter 24

The door to the office was open though the room itself was empty. Carol had come from the basement to update Alex but the DI wasn't to be found. She hesitated a moment, unsure whether to wait uninvited or visit later. Choosing the former, Carol entered and leaned against a nearby filing cabinet.

She hadn't taken much notice of the office the first time she had been in it, with her attention then completely on the man in the chair on the other side of the desk. Had it only been five days ago, she wondered to herself. The chair now stared back at her, bereft of an occupant. She couldn't deny, even setting aside Tony Hill, that she missed Bradfield. Missed the weather. Missed the chair. Of course, it wasn't her chair, literally or figuratively. It, like the rest of the office, was new and the position it represented had been ably filled by Alex.

"Sizing up my chair?"

The voice came from outside Carol's peripheral vision, causing her to jump. With her hand over her heart, she automatically blurted, "Jesus."

Alex smiled. "Sorry," she said as she walked round her desk and dropped a file on it. Slipping off her jacket and draping it on the back of the seat, she added, "Could be worse- you could have pulled a Tony and sat in my chair."

Her heart rate returned to normal, Carol replied, "Give yourself time; it took me years to break him of that habit."

Alex sat and without looking up, quipped, "I get the feeling you've broken him of a few habits." When no reply came, she looked up at a blank Carol. "Sorry," she apologized again. "Too early in our friendship for that kind of ribbing?"

"No," Carol answered, "I suppose I've just made an effort to keep my personal life separate from the professional." Before Alex had time to respond, she admitted, "Seems a bit daft considering the circumstances, I know."

Shaking her head, Alex disagreed. "A difficult situation, yes, but I can understand it. And I shouldn't have made that kind of comment at work. I'll keep them for after-hours."

Carol caught the sly smirk of Alex and groaned. "Fantastic," she replied facetiously.

Alex leaned back and folded her hands on her lap. "Since this is a professional visit, I take it you've got something on the Amadi case? Or were you really sizing up my chair?"

Returning the smile, Carol said, "I just wanted to touch base with you regarding the computer boys. They've painstakingly pored through Amadi's deleted porn files –"

"-Poor things."

"Yes, particularly when they discovered the majority of it wasn't really porn, but a lazy way of transferring contact names. A Jozef Stolarski came up several times and coincidentally I'm sure, Mr. Stolarski's name is high on an INTERPOL list of suspected traffickers."

"Yeah, coincidence."

"McCreary has assured me it's only a matter of time before all the dots are connected."

Sighing, Alex mused, "I suppose that's all we can ask."

"I'm trying to take some consolation in the fact that I might be going back empty-handed, but Mr. Amadi is only delaying the inevitable."

"Well, I've got a bit of news myself," Alex informed her.

"Oh?"

"We should have Dangor Amadi's medical files faxed over by the end of the day."

"Any chance there's a blood sample on file?"

"You'll love this," she replied. "Under law, the NHS can only keep blood samples for six months before disposing of them. For personal security reasons, of course."

"Reasons for which we've just circumvented with a different law."

"Isn't bureaucracy grand?" Alex smiled. "Amadi's physical was five months ago, so we got lucky there. Results for a DNA comparison with Kayode Dikobe won't be available for at least six weeks. The good news is, the lab's running an HIV test as we speak."

"Good for us, not so much for Amadi if the results are positive," Carol noted.

Alex shook her head. "I might be tempting the fates by saying it, but there's a very large part of me that wouldn't give a toss if he's positive. In fact, it surprises me how much I'm secretly hoping it's true." Realizing the unexpected edge in her words, Alex attempted to blunt it by asking, "I wonder what Tony would say to that?"

"I promise not to tell him," Carol assured the woman. "Knowing him, you'd be next term's topic."

"When Good People Wish Very Bad Things on Very Bad People."

The two women shared a quiet laugh before Carol said, "You'll let me know when those results come in, yeah?" Receiving a nod, she moved towards the door and looked back. "Don't worry about the chair," she said. "It doesn't fit me anymore."

--

Amid the continual to and fro of students entering and exiting the university, Tony cut a solitary image as he sat perched on the low wall at the base of the concrete steps. With his arms wrapped around the blue bag on his lap and his heels bouncing back and forth on the stone, he looked all of 10 years old. Carol smiled to herself and made note not to mention her observation to him. When he saw her car pull into the parking lot, his face woke up and he hopped off the ledge.

"I see you've got your bag with you today," she remarked as he got into the passenger seat.

He held it up before dropping it in the back seat. "Yes, Mum."

Deftly avoiding his jibe, she told him, "Don't forget it when you get out of the car."

He realized further sparring would be wasted so instead, after clicking his seat belt into place, he asked, "How was your day?"

She carefully manoeuvered out of the busy lot as she replied, "Good. After promises of company and dinner, Phil McCreary from the computer lab had made it his mission to get results sooner rather than later."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Company and dinner?"

"With my brother," she clarified with a smile. "God knows what he'd want with me. Don't reply."

He closed his open mouth.

"And Alex thinks the medical records of Dangor Amadi will be in by the end of the day," she continued.

"DNA?"

"Not for another 6 to 8 weeks."

"HIV testing?"

"As we speak. Should be with the file when it comes through."

"Alex secretly hoping for a positive result?"

Carol didn't dare take her eyes off the road. "Wouldn't be much of a secret if I knew, would it?"

He turned in his seat to look at her. "You make a secret pact with her not to tell me?"

"It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you, would it?"

He frowned at her simple rephrasing. "We're in a relationship now. There should be no secrets between us."

With her loud laughter filling the car, Carol clarified, "First, it's not a secret; it's an opinion shared between colleagues. Second, as I told DI Fielding, I'm trying my damnedest to keep my personal life and my professional life separate." She chanced a sidelong glance. "Besides, the phrasing of your question leads me to believe you already suspect the answer."

Tony shrugged and conceded the point. "Alex has a tendency to see things in very stark hues of black and white."

"Comes with being a cop, Tony." The red light allowed her a longer look at him. "You're not telling me you don't secretly think he might deserve it."

His eyes gave her a once over. "Wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you, would it?"

Deadpanned, she retorted, "You're lucky the light turned green or you and your little blue bag would be on the curb."

--

As he hung up his keys on the hook inside the door, he remarked, "I suppose I should get you one. A spare, I mean."

She slipped off her shoes and softly kissed him. With a hand on his chest, she patted over his heart. "Let's wait until I came back before we discuss living arrangements, yeah?"

"Of course," he replied and turned to hang up his jacket and hide his reaction. This was one of the many intricate steps in a relationship that he was woefully unprepared to walk, at least with any amount of certainty. He barely knew what he expected, let alone have an idea of what she expected. Kicking off his shoes and changing the subject, he asked, "At risk of sounding like I don't cook, you interested in take away?"

Catching the change in air but having her own sense of uncertainty, she went along with his re-direction. "No. Why don't I treat you to my culinary inadequacies now so there won't be any surprises later on? You've got pasta or rice, don't you?"

"I do."

"Then dinner's already half made."

--

He had sat for almost 10 minutes, attempting to follow her orders to stay out of her hair while she cooked, before he got up and went into the kitchen. As it was the other morning, there was something remarkably comforting about seeing her there, in his kitchen, as if she had been gently dropped into a space in his life that needed to be filled. He knew he had to find a way to see that in a positive light rather than with the lingering fear of waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was pulling open several cupboards in search of something, and he stepped up beside her.

"Spoon?" she asked him and when he opened the only remaining drawer, she smiled. "Of course."

Tony leaned against the counter and faced her profile. Looking down at the pan, he said, "Smells good."

She deflected the compliment with a shrug. "Just a quick curry, I'm afraid." The concoction bubbled away quietly on the stove and she tended to it for several minutes with the wooden spoon. She seemed to edit her thoughts several times before finally speaking. "About the spare key…"

"You don't have to explain, Carol," Tony told her.

"But I feel I do. I didn't mean to imply that we couldn't move in together." She stopped and chuckled. "God, I can't believe I said the words let alone the likelihood of them."

"It's happened, yet it's hard to believe it has."

She looked at him and nodded. "Yes, that's exactly it. I keep asking myself if I've had too much drink. And when I come to grips with the reality of things, I wonder when we're going to realize we've cocked it up."

"I know."

"I can't quite come to terms with the newness of something that seems to have been forever in the making."

"We'll take things slow."

"Where's the rice?" she asked, and as he handed it to her, she continued. "No, it's not a question of taking it slow. God knows we've gone slow enough." She checked to make sure her comment got the small smile that was intended. "I think we need to stop thinking of things in terms of time and just do things as we feel. And when it comes to living together, I don't feel it's quite right yet." He nodded but she wasn't convinced of his understanding. "When I come back- which has its own set of hurdles to jump over- I'll be starting a new job and trying to find my feet again. I need to have one house in order before I can deal with another, figuratively and literally."

"So things went well with John?"

She blinked as he tried to catch his train of thought. "Oh, right. Didn't I tell you?" Slapping him lightly on the arm, she asked, "Why didn't you say? Yes, things went well with John. He said to go see him once I've got the separation with Johannesburg sorted."

"You always were his favourite," Tony said.

Her smile didn't hide the faint blush. "You flatter me," she half-heartedly accused, and returned her attention to the ingredients on the stove.

He wondered if he would ever grow to take moments like this for granted. Would the joy that was wrapped up in the sheer simplicity of it fade over time? Or would seeing her and all it implied always give him that jolt of happy alarm? He reached out to touch the soft skin of her forearm. She stopped stirring and looked him with interest. He watched his hand stroke lightly up and down her arm, mesmerized by what had been granted to him over the last five days and caught by the still-lingering insecurity that made him avoid her eyes.

Nodding, he said simply, "I understand, Carol." Then, without change in tone or tenor, added, "The curry's burning."

"What? Damn. Go set the table, would you?"

"Yes, dear." He quickly got out of arms' reach before she could react to his cheek.

--


	25. Chapter 25

His hand fell to an empty spot on the mattress and his eyes immediately opened. The quiet sound of water running in the bathroom quelled the fear in his heart and he tried not to count the seconds until her return. Those same seconds brought them closer to her leaving.

--

The spot was filled when he woke in the morning; filled with her warm body and soft skin spooned up against him. She held his arm draped around her waist and entangled her legs with his. When he kissed the nape of her neck, the hold on his arm increased.

"I forbid you to move," she mumbled in a sleepy haze.

"Forbid?" he repeated.

"I work for the police," she replied, waking up with each word. "I can do that, you know."

"Yes, Superintendent."

"That's better." He tried to crane his head back to see the clock on his nightstand and she said, "You don't listen very well, do you?"

"Just checking the time," he defended meekly.

"Don't check the time," she told him and there was something in her voice that hinted at a deeper meaning. He wondered if he wasn't the only one with 3 A.M fears. "I have one task to do today," she went on in a lighter tone, "and I can leave that until midday. And you don't have anything to do today. So I'll give you one more warning, Mr. Hill- don't move."

He curled closer to her and murmured into her ear. "Far be it for me to disobey the law."

--

He extracted himself from the bed as the time drifted into double-digits, but only under the promise of pastry and strong coffee.

"Something sweet and horribly decadent," she had purred into the pillow as he pulled on his trousers.

Mission dutifully fulfilled, with both food and drink in hand, he was surprised to see Paula reaching his steps from the opposite direction.

Meeting at the foot of the stairs, he needlessly said, "Paula."

She bent her head at his acknowledgment. "Dr. Hill."

They stood silent for a moment before both speaking at once.

"I was just –"

"What can I –"

Laughing, Paula started again. "I was just looking for Carol."

"Ah."

"I went round to her hotel and they told me she had checked out a few days ago," she continued and made little attempt to hide her smile. "So I went out on a limb and –" Her playfully raised eyebrow finished her sentence, much to his mortification.

Shifting uncomfortably, he neither confirmed nor denied her deduction. "Was there something you needed to tell her?"

As much as she enjoyed putting him on the spot, she always had a soft admiration for him and could only see him ill at ease for so long. Pulling a folded paper from her back pocket, she handed it to Tony and said, "That's a photocopy of the blood work on Dangor Amadi we received this morning. I know Carol was interested in seeing it."

He reached for it, but extended the baker's paper bag instead. He paused momentarily, confused, until he realized both hands were full. Aware of her chuckle, he held the bag between his teeth and took the paper. He tried to curl a "Thank you" around the brown bag, much to Paula's amusement.

"Tell Carol if she needs anything else to ring me." He nodded and she turned to leave, but stopped to add one more thing. "Just so you know, I won the office pool," she informed him cryptically. "I was only off by four years."

The corners of his mouth downturned on either side of the bag and his brows met in the middle as he watched the young woman depart.

--

He walked in to find Carol at the kitchen table, newspaper spread out before her. Clad in jeans and a heather grey T-shirt, bare feet crossed beneath the chair, she couldn't have looked more removed from Superintendent Carol Jordan if she tried, felinely stretched nude in his bed notwithstanding. Her head turned at his entrance and he couldn't help but smile at the light in her eyes. He placed the pastry and coffee on the table, and, in a gesture that he still considered unusual, he bent his head to lightly kiss her.

She stroked his arm and held on to his hand. "Sit."

He did as asked, and remembered the paper he had pushed into his front pocket before entering the flat. "Oh," he said as he reached for it. "I saw Paula outside."

Carol tilted her head in confusion. "Sorry?"

"Paula was coming up to the door just as I was doing the same," he clarified and handed her the folded paper. "A copy of Amadi's medical file."

"Ah, I see."

As she began to unfold it, he asked with genuine sincerity, "Did you know there was a betting pool at the office? About you and me?"

"Yep," she replied without taking her eyes off the paper. "I lost that bet ages ago." When nothing came from him, she looked over, only to see him frozen in disbelief. With a smile and a wink, she stroked his cheek and decided that changing the subject would be the better part of valour. "Do you want to know the results?" she asked as she held up the paper.

He slowly came back to the moment. "Of course."

"They did a rapid test instead of the ELISA," she began, "but the results are considered to be as accurate."

"Did they run a Western Blot as well?"

She nodded. "Yep." She looked at him again and they knew. The only reason to run a Western Blot test would be to confirm the positive results of the rapid test.

"Alex will be pleased," Tony nonchalantly noted. Receiving a withering look from Carol, he amended, "You know what I meant."

"Alex won't be displeased."

He allowed the double-speak to pass unchallenged. "Now what?"

"Now, I'm finishing my coffee and decadent breakfast," she answered as she folded the report.

"Horribly decadent," he corrected.

"Horribly decadent," she agreed with a wry smile. "Then… then I suppose I have one more visit to make before I go."

He nodded, then pulled back, startled. "I haven't asked you when you're leaving."

She, too, was surprised they hadn't talked about it. "Tonight," she told him, the disappointment evident in her voice. With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, she added, "I've got an overnight flight- no doubt booked by the accountants in Johannesburg."

He recognized her attempt to lighten the moment and he did his best to push down his own disappointment and play along. "If they had only known you'd be saving money on lodging." Though the disappointment lingered, there was a measure of happiness behind his words given what they truly meant in their relationship. This time, he reached over and took her hand. "Speaking of which, how much do I owe you for losing that bet?"

--


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Yes, nearly 6 months after the first chapter, I'm finally done! My apologies for the wait, and my thanks to those who stuck it out to the end. Lots to say, but I'll try to keep it short! First and foremost, it's hard enough to keep characters, well, in character based on book/tv canon, but I knew it was going to be harder still to keep them in character as they stepped into a place where the original author has yet to take them. I hope I was able to keep the essence of who Tony and Carol are while also showing a development in their character that is in line with how they've been written by Val McDermid. I have so much respect for these characters and I hope that always shows through in my writing. And just for those who might be interested in the development of this story, I may have mentioned in the beginning that this was originally a script I wrote for CSI. Of course, I had to tinker with a lot of the plot in order to make it fit Tony, et al (no, you cannot just change the names and expect the story to make sense! I wish a lot of fan fic writers realized that!). The CSI ending was also much, much more abrupt for Mr. Amadi! Let's just say his luck ran out permanently at the end! Also, I mention Berlin/Germany in this fic- I had intended on making it a larger part of the story, not only as it related to the trafficking angle, but of course, to Tony and Carol. I flirted with the idea of sending them over to Berlin to get the suspect, but in the end, I thought it would have taken the story well off the path it was going and the two plots wouldn't have gone together. And I don't think this was the story to deal with the events of Berlin. That's a story all on its own. Not that I have any plans of writing that one!! I'm taking a break from Wire in the Blood for a bit; catch my breath, get some distance, and then perhaps come back to it with a new view on things.

Thanks again to those who have/had the patience to wait.

* * *

Amadi's artificial smile fell when he recognized the two prospective customers. Carol's, however, beamed brightly. It was a small victory to see him squirm, but it was one she was willing to claim nonetheless.

Glancing around the empty restaurant with feigned interest, she asked rhetorically, "How's business, Mr. Amadi?"

"My solicitor will hear about this," he boldly claimed. "This is harassment."

"Harassment? Tch. You haven't seen harassment," she informed him sweetly. Before he could say more, she continued innocently, "Besides, we're here for altruistic reasons." She took the folded paper from her pocket. "We've received some rather upsetting news regarding your health."

He looked to Tony and back to Carol. With a puzzled laugh, he said, "I'm not sure I understand."

"You went in for a physical examination about five months ago," Tony reminded him. Amadi nodded, though his expression remained one of confusion. "They were quite thorough; did all the tests. Did all the blood work." Again, Amadi nodded, and so did Tony. "Our NHS might be stretched and understaffed, but they do their job well, don't they?"

Carol picked up the thread and cut to the chase. "Did you know Monifa Dikobe was HIV positive?" Amadi blanched, and his reaction didn't go unnoticed. "Are we putting two and two together?" She handed him the paper. "Let me assure you, with congratulations, that your math is absolutely spot on." As he reached for it with a shaky hand, she asked, "Not that it makes an ounce of difference, but did you know she was positive and simply thought it couldn't happen to you? Or is this a sort of karmic justice for what you did to her son?"

"Allegedly," Tony corrected.

"Allegedly," she amended.

The stricken man opened the paper but his eyes seemed to glaze over the contents.

Tony looked at Carol. "Speaking of Kayode…"

"Oh, right, the DNA test…" she glanced over at Amadi. "What? You've never considered it? Never did the math on that one? Never worked out the fact that Monifa Dikobe made efforts to avoid physical relationships for fear of passing on the virus, leaving only you as the possible father of Kayode? Never once considered the fact that he might be your son?" Any trace of feigned hospitality was stripped from Carol's voice and expression, both now becoming hard and bare. "Or was it just another thing you conveniently chose to believe couldn't apply to you? Was it a possibility you simply ignored as you hacked up a screaming boy. Allegedly." The last word was spit out like a poison.

The room was silent except for the low rumble of traffic outside and the distant sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the back, unanswered.

Touching her arm, Tony initiated their exit. "Carol."

Her steely gaze never wavered from Amadi's face. When she stepped forward, he immediately stepped back. "I won't deny that what I'm about to say to you hadn't led to some soul-searching, but I will confess, Mr. Amadi, that I take no small measure of satisfaction in knowing that I might never be able to bring you before a judge, but in my mind, justice has been served. And that's something you'll have to live with for the rest of your life- however short that may be."

She turned and took Tony's arm and didn't look back.

--

It was in the privacy of the car that her steely resolve broke. With a hand up to her mouth and her eyes closed, she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

He reached for her free hand. "There's no need. It's been an emotionally difficult case. You're disappointed, frustrated and, dare I say, a bit ashamed of the feelings you thought were beneath you."

Her laugh was a shaky one. "Is this what I have to look forward to, being in a relationship with a psychologist?"

"No," he replied gently, "it's what you have to look forward to being in a relationship with someone who knows you and loves you."

--

Poking her head into the office, Carol rapped on the door, and receiving Alex's attention, she asked, "I was wondering if you had a minute?"

"Sure," Alex replied. It was Carol's departure that made her realize the question was an invitation. Standing, she followed Carol through the hall and down the metal stairs. From the view on the short descent, she could see the trio of Tony, Kevin and Paula gathered around Kevin's desk.

Carol waited for Alex to join the small group before she began. "I thought it would be easier to simply tell everyone at once. First, I'm sure you all know the results of Dangor Amadi's blood test." Everyone gave an indication she was correct. "Tony and I visited him this morning to tell him the news."

"Karma's a bitch," Paula said, her voice devoid of sympathy.

Carol let the comment slide, knowing she had uttered very nearly the same sentiment less than an hour ago. Instead, she informed, "Phil McCreary from the tech squad told me he was more than confident they'd catch something on Amadi regarding the trafficking case I'm working on. It's not much consolation for those of us who wanted justice for Kayode Dikobe, but…" she trailed off.

Kevin picked up Paula's opinion. "The blood work came back positive. That's justice enough for me."

Again, it was something Carol couldn't deny, and based on the expressions of everyone, with perhaps the exception of Tony who was looking down at the floor, everyone agreed.

"Anyway," Carol said, wanting to change the subject, "there's something else I wanted to say to all of you at once." Three expectant faces looked at her and she shifted a little in discomfort. "I'm leaving tonight for Johannesburg," she said, getting right to the point. She tried not to look at Tony whose head was still downcast. "I didn't say good-bye the last time I left, and it was something I really regretted. So… it was good to see everyone and I'm sure we'll cross paths again."

Paula frowned at the choice of Carol's words. "Does that mean you're coming back? I mean, permanently?"

Carol's shrug did little to disguise her pleasure. "I may have spoken with John Brandon about a position on his National Crime Profiling Task Force."

"Your first job should be shortening the title," Kevin wryly offered.

The small group shared a laugh, and Tony looked up at Carol with a warm smile.

"That's excellent!" Alex praised and extended her hand. "I'm glad it's all worked out."

Carol accepted the handshake and knew the woman's words held more meaning than they appeared. "So am I. It was a pleasure working with you."

Paula's was a more immediate gesture. Hugging the taller woman, Paula said, "It was good to have you back, boss."

"I'm definitely getting in on this," Kevin said as he stepped forward, arms open. They embraced as old colleagues and old friends. When they separated, he couldn't resist a gentle jab at Tony. "Purely platonic, Dr. Hill. No worries."

Alex saved the gobsmacked psychologist from any further embarrassment by piping up, "I think that's our cue to get back to our jobs. Good luck," she said to Carol. "I hope you'll ring me when you get settled again."

"I will," Carol assured her.

Alex sent a final, stern look Paula and Kevin's way before leaving the small group.

"That was definitely your cue," Tony said.

Carol agreed. "Go on then," she told the pair. "Get to it."

Paula gave one last goodbye and Tony pushed himself away from the corner of Kevin's desk to let the younger man return to his duties.

As they walked away together, Carol felt the sense of completion she had missed the first time round. "Where to?" she asked the man who was most responsible for this newfound feeling of closure.

He blithely shrugged. "You're the one who's driving."

--

"Not quite what I expected," Tony admitted.

"What? The setting or the drink?"

Armed with cold drinks from a nearby coffee shop, they sat on one of the wooden benches scattered along the edge of the park she had chosen. He tucked the straw of his cup into the corner of his mouth and drank the blitzed fruit mixture she had recommended.

"The drink's lovely," he told her. "So's the setting. I'm just not sure I would have chosen either when I got in the car."

"I needed a change of scenery," she said as she took in the lush green of the expansive lawn. "Some fresh air. A reminder of life." She handed him her drink. "Want to try?"

"You just want to try mine," he said. Despite his accusation, he traded his cup with hers.

She peered into the contents as she stirred them with his straw. "I'm trying desperately to look at the silver lining in this Amadi mess."

"If the computer boys are confident, I believe them." She nodded at Tony's words. "And the likelihood is, catching Amadi will lead to catching a fair number of other people involved in the operation."

"I know. I hope in some way that's enough for Kayode's family."

"What will happen to Kayode now?"

Brushing back a strand of hair blown by the wind, her profile was soft and welcoming to Tony who had admired it for years. "Once the paperwork is done, he'll be sent back to his home." They were silent for quite some time before the downward direction of her brows broke up the softness of her face. "It's been an odd week."

He waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing more. As if forcing feelings that were more apt for their surroundings, she put a smile on her face and tried the drink that had been resting on her knee. As the cold flavours hit her tongue, her eyes lit up over the rim of the cup. "You're right; it's lovely."

"Don't drink it too fast," he warned her, tapping his forehead.

She smiled, then unexpectedly reached over to stroke his cheek. Her hand was cool against his warm skin. "Just making sure you're really there," she told him before returning her gaze to her drink.

--

They had gone for years ignoring the elephant in the room, so they had no problem pretending they weren't acutely aware their time together was getting shorter and shorter. They had returned to his flat, eaten and washed up, and deftly side-stepped any reminder of the reality of tomorrow.

When the advancement of the hour hand could no longer be ignored, Carol sighed and stood. "I suppose I should pack."

Tony followed suit and stood beside her. He seemed to struggle for something to say, but nothing came, so they walked into the bedroom silently.

As he pulled her bag from under the bed, she asked, "Do you have a smaller one?"

Frowning, he asked, "Planning on doing some binge souvenir shopping at the airport?"

She smiled. "No. I was just wondering if it wasn't more practical to leave some of this behind, considering I'm coming back at some point."

Her words- and in them, the promise of future between them- took away some of the sting of her leaving. Tony pretended to ponder her observation for a moment before pursing his lips and agreeing, "You're right. Not very practical to take everything with you."

"So that's settled, then?"

"I've got just the bag."

She began sorting her things and he rummaged through his closet for the aforementioned piece of luggage.

"When do you have to be at the airport?" he asked, triumphantly holding the bag above his head.

"Seven," she replied and automatically looked at her watch.

Her action made him glance at the clock on the dresser. "Time for a quick shag?"

It was the last thing she expected him to say and she couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Really!"

He hummed his agreement. "There's always next time." He punctuated his reply with a wink and it dispelled any lingering sadness.

"Let me get a few things from the loo," she said. Taking all of 30 seconds to complete the task, she returned with a handful of items and tucked them into the corner of the bag. She zipped it up and looked down at the result. "I suppose that's it."

"You've got your ticket and identification?"

"Downstairs in my purse, but I'll double-check."

"Good." There didn't seem to be more to say, despite Tony's urge to ramble on about nothing if it meant keeping her there. But he took a great deal of comfort in knowing there was a greater future ahead of them, and, taking the handle of the bag, he simply said, "Ready?"

A simple word that seemed loaded with possibilities. She stepped forward and kissed him deeply. It was the thud of the bag hitting the floor that made her pull back with a smile. "Ready."

-end


End file.
